Before You Learn to Run
by Ranowa Hikura
Summary: ...You have to learn to crawl. Set before my 'Running Away' story, but you don't have to read that to understand this. What exactly was happening to Casey those three months before she came to Olivia?
1. Chapter 1

A pre-ep for my first fic, 'Running Away'. What exactly was happening to Casey those three months between the rape and the beginning of 'Running Away'? You don't have to read that to understand this. Thanks to prentiss-be-mine, for encouraging me to write this and post this.

**Warnings: Rated 'M' for references to alcoholism and descriptions of self-harm. May trigger.**

**Chapter 1**

"Call me when you're ready to date again, Casey."

Then there is the sound of the door shutting, leaving only confusion and pain in its wake. Confusion, because it seemed like such a calm, nonchalant comment, and this night was everything but.

Pain, because everything was hurting. Here I am, collapsed on my apartment floor, blood soaking through my skirt, a sharp, burning pain radiating from my shoulder and my chest. I feel hazy, and my head is pounding. I blink before slowly pushing myself to into a sitting position, hands shaking so much I can hardly keep my grip on the plastic bowl on the ground.

I really don't understand what had just happened. Wait, yes, I do. I do understand what had happened, just… not the why.

I have just been raped. That's what just happened.

I grip the edge of my coffee table, muscles starting to tremble with the effort of pulling myself up. I hesitantly try putting weight on my left leg, then gasp and nearly scream from the pain. I lower myself to the ground again, sweating and gasping, my hand coming to clench my thigh. Blood is streaming from the misshapen gashes on the back of my leg, and I have never in my life experienced pain like this before. The sight of my blood on my carpet makes me dizzy.

"That's weird," I remark out loud. "Blood making me dizzy. Doesn't usually happen. Guess that's just 'cause it's mine. And so much of it." I see the plastic bowl on the floor, the one I'd used to fight back with before it cracked on Danny's back and he grabbed it from me. I hastily pick it up and slide it onto the coffee table, making sure it was in its place, then realize the table was off center. I must have kicked it in the struggle. Frowning, I use my good arm to move it back to its original spot before looking around, making sure there was nothing else out of place.

That sure was a lot of blood. I inhale, wincing slightly at the uncomfortable, faint tickling sensation in my throat and lungs. It wasn't painful, but it made it hard to breathe. Swallowing did nothing to dislodge the feeling from my throat, and, panting, I struggle to stand again.

This time, I make it, holding one leg gingerly in the air, too scared of the pain to even rest it on the ground. My door is unlocked. That wasn't right; it should be locked- and right now, all that was important was recreating a semblance of order, of normality. That was my focus.

I practically crawl to the door, my blood staining the floor. "Damn," I mutter. "Have to clean that up." Gripping the doorknob, I pull myself up right and use it for balance. I try to lock it several times, but my hands are shaking so much it is nearly impossible. When I rest a trembling hand on my own wrist and check my pulse, I find the blood pounding furiously at a ridiculously fast pace under my flesh. I swear again, my vision flashing red and white as I try to lock it again.

I shake my head, fighting to stay conscious. I have to lock my door. My door is normally locked at night, and, damn it, today is normal. Tears of frustration began to form in my eyes when I can't lock my door and my vision flashes again. I fall to the side against the wall in the hallway, suddenly feeling lightheaded. I slowly push myself upright before tumbling to my other side, crashing to the floor. I cough weakly, struggling to push myself upright, but I can't move. My vision flashes once more, filling with a myriad of black dots. Black dots and red swirls…

* * *

Beeping. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

It's loud and it hurts my ears.

Stop. I wants it to stop.

But then the memories assault me, and I'm too afraid to open my eyes. And, by god, my injuries _hurt_. My shoulder and my head and my chest and those gashes. They all hurt so much.

I passed out. That's what happened to me. I passed out in the hall outside of my apartment… now I'm here. Wherever that is. Did Danny come back? De he find me passed out in the hall? Oh, god…

The panicky thought was enough to force me to open my eyes. I'm lying here in this bed, wearing a flimsy hospital gown, several wires and hospital machines attached to me. There's an IV in my arm, and, surely, it's why the pain is more of an ache than unbelievable agony it was back in my apartment. I look up at the IV bag hanging by head and am surprised to see it full of blood. I mean, I know I lost a lot of blood from those cuts, but… enough to need a blood transfusion? I'm in a generic hospital room, empty of any visitors, and, once again, panic rises up in my chest. I looked myself over, grasping at the hospital ID bracelet on my wrist and hurriedly scanning the information. All I gain is the knowledge that I'm at Mercy and that they don't know who I am- instead of my name, they just put 'Jane Doe' on there. My arm's in a sling, and when I shift my position slightly, I feel stitches on my thigh.

Someone must have found me unconscious in the hallway and called 911. Well, that's all well and good, but I need to get out of here. Who knows what time it is- or what day it is; maybe I slept for more than just a few hours. Oh, god, what if I ended up missing work? I'd have to come up with a believable excuse. Swearing under my breath, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed before gasping as pain whiplashed up the length of my left leg, nearly paralyzing me as the excruciating sense of my flesh being on fire returns. Gritting my teeth as a soft whimper escapes from my throat, I grasp my leg tightly and rock back forth slightly, a few tears coming to my eyes that I struggle not to give into.

"Ma'am?"

There's a nurse standing in the doorway, watching me hesitantly- and there's that look in her eyes. That look I've seen so much in my career; hell, I've given it a few times myself. It's the sympathetic, 'I'm so sorry for you' look that we give to rape victims.

What should I make of it? I don't know. That's what I am, but I'm not asking for her pity. Hell, I'm not feeling much of anything at this point.

"Wh-what am I doing here?" I ask, clearing my throat as her expression grows even more sad and sorrowful. Why is she looking at me like that? I shift uncomfortably under her gaze as she takes another step into the room.

"A neighbor found you passed out in the hallway of your apartment building about four hours ago. You passed out due to blood loss, but you're all right now. We gave you a transfusion."

I nod. "Thank you. But I… I really need to go home. Can I leave now? Please?"

"Well, there are some detectives here. The doctor who examined you said that there were signs of sexual assault and he called the Special Victim's Unit. They're here to-"

"What? No! You can't do that! I didn't report any crime!"

The nurse doesn't back away from my anger or look intimidated in the least. Instead, she gives me another one of those sad looks, like the ones she would give a child, and an understanding smile. And now, that's starting to piss me off. "Ma'am, it's standard to call the police in cases like these. There are two detectives out in the waiting room. They have to speak with you and get your statement; find out what happened-"

"No. I'm leaving. I'm checking myself AMA, I don't care what I have to do, just get me the forms I need," I demand sharply. I have to get out of here. Now is my only chance, while SVU still doesn't know who their victim is. Who's out there? Is it Elliot and Olivia? Maybe Munch and Fin? Whoever it is, they can't know. They can't know about this, and I won't let them. My hand is resting on the IV, and I'm about to tear it out when there's a new, unfamiliar male voice from the doorway.

"Ma'am?"

My head whipped around to stare at him, amazed. There are two men standing in the doorway, and they must be the cops- I can see the badges on their belts- but I don't recognize them. What's going on?

"Who are you?"

The nurse backs out of the room as the two detectives step forward. One of them, with greasy black hair, pale skin, and brown eyes, said, "I'm Detective Adams. Are you Casey Novak?"

Who the hell is this guy? Why didn't the doctor call the _Manhattan_ Special Victim's Unit… oh.

Olivia is out of town for a battered women conference. Munch is on medical leave. One of Elliot's daughters was in a serious car crash and he's with her. And Fin and Cragen were transporting a suspect from Richmond to here. Dispatch must of forward the call to another district's SVU squad- thank god. Today is my lucky day- but I can't blow this. This could be my one and only chance to keep what happened a secret.

But how do they know my name? No, they don't know I'm Casey, they're asking if I am. They don't know, and I can lie. I have to. Whatever happens, there is never going to be a police report with the name 'Casey Novak' written there under the label as the victim. "Why? Why do you think that?"

Adams's partner, a younger man- young enough to still be a rookie- with soft brown hair, green eyes, and a shirt that was probably a size too small so it strained over his well-muscled chest, flashed a white smile at me and said, "I'm Detective Michaels. And, well, we found you outside her apartment, which is covered with blood, so we just assumed-"

"Well, you assumed wrong," I said flatly. I flinch back when he takes a step forward. Frankly, I don't want either one of them near me right now and I'm acutely aware of each and every one of their movements and how they seem to be getting closer to me. "I'm not Casey. I'm Allison White. And I'm not filing charges. I'm not! Nothing happened to me; I'm fine."

"How do you explain all the blood? And the fact that the rape kit came back positive?"

My blood runs cold at that, and I freeze at the thought of someone touching me while I was unconscious. Even a doctor. I was out cold; I didn't even know, and… "What rape kit?"

Detective Michaels shrugged nonchalantly and smiled at me again. "Well, the doctor ran one as soon as he'd stabilized you. It's standard procedure, in cases like these."

"I'm not filing charges. And stop looking at me like that, Michaels. I'm not one of your victims to pity and take care of, and I'm not looking for a date."

Adams glared at his partner. "I apologize for him. He's new. Anyway, look, we can't force you, but not filing charges is-"

"Is my choice. My. Damn. Choice. And I'm not going to file charges. Just… go back to Brooklyn or wherever it is you came from and leave me the hell alone."

Michaels shrugged. "Who knows, Adams, maybe we were wrong about her being raped. Let's go."

Adams just sighed. "You've got a lot to learn, Michaels. But, you're right, Allison, it's your choice." He waited for his partner to leave before looking back at me and added one more comment. "I don't know if this means anything to you, but those cuts, on your leg? They're initials. D-G."

And that's his name. Danny Garcia. It shocks me, yes, horrifies me, yes, but it doesn't take any intelligence to piece together what that's supposed to mean.

I'm his. That's what it means. I'm his. He put those cuts on my leg and branded his name into my skin so he'll always own me.


	2. Chapter 2

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**Chapter 2**

By the time I finally get to leave the hospital, it's nearly six in the morning. I'm wearing hospital sweats, as the clothes I was wearing when I got here are shredded and soaked with blood. I left the sling and the pair of crutches, as well as the prescription for painkillers, behind. It hurts, but that's not the point. Last night happened, yes, but it's nothing. I just need to ignore it.

It's so early that there's no point in going home. I might as well just as head on over to work. Fin and Cragen will be back today and I need to be at work.

My doctor advised me to stay here. I can't afford to do that, though, and there's no reason to stay at the hospital for a few more hours so they could poke and prod me and run more tests. There was simply no point.

As I walk out of the hospital, I keep my injured arm wrapped around my chest and I can hardly manage to even limp without stopping and leaning against the wall for support. The initials- no, the _cuts_- on the back of my leg scream out at me with every step I take.

Initials. That's what he was cutting into my skin. I remember screaming as loud as I could, but it didn't matter, because I was gagged. I shudder, trying to force back the wave of memories. Not here, not out in public.

I don't have my wallet with me; that's still in my apartment- so I can't take a cab. My bike's at home as well. Looks like I'm walking to work. I don't have my ADA badge either; hope I don't need to go to any crime scenes today. As far as I know, I don't have court today; it's just my paperwork day. Little to no exertion- just what I need after last night. And, fortunately, my office isn't too far away from the hospital. The doctor said I really shouldn't be walking without my crutches, that I could tear my stitches, but doctors always assume the worst. I'll be fine.

After what happened last night, I would've expected to be frightened to be out in public. But I'm not. Self-conscious, yes. Worried, yes- but not frightened. It's still early, so there are few people on the streets, and I'm focused on every single one of them. How close they are to me, how big they are, and I find myself looking them over and trying to find any weapons possibly hidden on their person. Trying to see if they pose any threat to me.

And I also can't help but think, do they know? Do they know what just happened to me? And I know it's silly, that they couldn't possibly have any idea what Danny did last night. But that doesn't matter. I focus on each and every one of them, wondering, does this person know, does that one? And when someone gives me an odd look and glances at my leg, I shiver and try to make my limp less noticeable. It hurts more, but at least no one will get an inkling on what happened.

I limped down the street, allowing my injured arm to fall to my side and suppressing the wince from the flash of pain through my shoulder. I'll feel better once I get to work, I will. Once I can get my mind off what happened.

"You're here early, Ms. Novak," the security guard said as I enter the DA's office. "In fact, you're the first one here."

I shrug, glancing at my watch- one of my few accessories that wasn't still at home- and said, "Well, I have a lot of work."

"It's not even six."

I shrug again and taking a step back when I realize how close he is to me. "I know. It's a _lot_ of work." Then I hurry away at the first opportunity.

He'd asked a lot of questions. Did he suspect something? Did he know what happened?

No. He couldn't. There was no possible way he could… right?

Shaking my head, I hurry towards the elevator, and am relieved when I am alone in it. I really don't have that much work to do- yesterday, I thought it would only take me about four hours unless something came up. Well, I don't know what I was thinking. How could I rush through paperwork? It's important. I need to focus on it. Already, I'm thinking of the large pile just waiting for me on my desk and trying to find ways to make it last so as to keep me in my office until late tonight.

Ignoring the pain that seemed to only get worse the longer I'm standing, I push myself off the wall and out of the elevator, walking slowly down to my office. I wince with every step and by the time I've reached my door, I can't wait to sit down- and that was when I remember that I don't have my keys with me.

My office is locked.

I just start crying. I slam a fist against the door and collapse against it, hot tears forming in my eyes as I shake my head weakly. Can't things just go right _today?_ Why on earth can't I just go into my office and work and forget about everything else?

I must have stood there crying for at least five minutes before I realize that I don't have a choice. I can either go ask the security guard to come up here and unlock my office for me, or I can go all the way home and get my keys there.

I can't go home. I'm not in any shape to walk that far; I just want to sit down and make my leg stop burning.

But the security guard will ask questions. He'll want to know where my keys are, and when I tell him they're at home, he'll wonder why I left them there. That's too close to the truth. I have to think of something else.

But, thinking of a more sophisticated excuse takes more initiative than my poor, addled brain has right now. So, finally, I drag myself back over to the elevator and head back to the first floor, wiping the tear stains off my face.

It's only when I do that when I realize I'm not really dressed for work. I'm not wearing any makeup, either. Plus, without my cell phone, I won't be too easy to get a hold of. I'm suddenly very self-conscious of my sweats and what'll people think if they see me like this? Will they wonder why I didn't change at home? Will they connect the dots and realize I was in the hospital? Or what if-

No. I can't do this. I have to go home and change. It's still early; I'll make it up to myself by staying later tonight. Yes, my leg still hurts, and so does my arm, and I have no idea how I'll make it that far, but I don't have a choice.

It isn't until I make it outside of the DA's office- with the desk guard giving me a funny look on the way- that I realize I can't. I can't walk that far. I am able to take one more step before I slip on a patch of ice and fall. I land on my knee and a thin, pale scream escapes my locked lips as I cry even harder, my shaking hands grasping my thigh. I can feel the lines of stitches through the fabric of my sweatpants and I trace the cuts. I can almost see the initials branded into my skin and the stress on my thigh after my fall makes it hurt so much I can barely breathe.

"Case?"

I look up and am shocked to the core when I see Fin standing above me, staring down at me in confusion. I shoot upright, but, due to my position, I ended up putting all my weight on my bad leg and nearly collapsed again, only managing to stay upright through sheer willpower. "Fin, what are you doing here?" I ask urgently, taking at step back, as I'm uncomfortably close to him. He couldn't know what happened, could he?

"I came down here to drop a file off and leave a message for you. I would of just called, but you weren't answering your cell. What are you doing down here so early?" He eyed her clothes curiously, then added, "And dressed like that?"

_Think, Casey, think! _"Um, I, um, forgot. I forgot to change into a suit. And I'm here early 'cause I, um, forgot something here last night."

The strange look he gave her was enough to nearly make her bury her head in her hands. _Oh, smooth one, Casey. That's believable._ "Well… all right," he said doubtfully. "So why were you on the ground? Here's the file, by the way."

I accept the file, leaning heavily on my right leg. _Okay, damage control time._ "I tripped and, um, hurt my leg. A little. It's not too bad."

He shrugged apologetically. "Okay. Well, I'm headed back over to the precinct. You should know that we'll probably need you down there, as well, later today. We're interrogating a suspect now and we're doing a line-up in three hours. And if that goes well…"

"Indictment?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

Well, as if this day couldn't get any worse. "Okay. Thanks for the heads up." Fin nodded and was headed back to the squad car when I saw the opportunity. "Wait, Fin! Would you mind giving me a ride back to my apartment? It's on your way, and I need to change."

Fin shrugged. "Sure. Get in."

Thank god. Maybe some things will go right today.

I follow him into the squad car and sit gingerly down in the passenger seat, wincing as the pain from the cuts returns with a vengeance. I try to find a less painful way to sit, but to no avail. It's until Fin has already driven a block when he asks, "So, why are you really here so early?"

_Please just shut up. Please don't ask me that. I don't have an answer._

But I can't say that. "I already told you," I snap. My reply comes out harsher than I intended it to, but he shouldn't be asking me that. I did already answer him, even if it was a lie that he would never believe in a million years.

"Yeah, with a load of crap."

I glare at him. "I don't even know why you care. Nothing happened."

He shrugs. "Fine, I won't ask. Damn, girl. No reason to act like that."

I'm instantly regretful and apologetic. It's because of the pain, I swear. That's the only reason I'm so cross. "Listen, Fin, I'm sorry. It's just that I had a really rough night last night."

_What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you bringing that up? Don't talk about last night!_ "I mean, um," I cough, "morning. I had a rough morning."

Fin gave me a look. "Well, I still don't believe you, but apology accepted." We're silent for a while, then, and until he pulls up in front of my apartment. I'm in a hurry to get out of the car before I say something else stupid, but he speaks before I do. "Case, look, I don't know what happened last night, but whatever it was, I'm sorry about it. Hope you have a good day."

My expression softens, and I can't help but smile. Fin does have the tough-guy act down pat, but he can be sweet when he wants to. Maybe today won't be awful after all. "Thanks, Fin."

Lucky for me, one of my neighbors was just headed out, so I could get inside without my keys. The elevator was working, another stroke of luck. I just had to hope the cops left my apartment unlocked. The last thing I needed was to go find my super and ask _him_ to let me inside.

Thankfully, they had left it unlocked. Well, with the way today was going, someone had probably broken in and stolen everything I own- but no. Inside, I find the same bloody mess as last night.

My god. All that blood. It's my blood. All of it. There's so much, there's so much. And I can't look away from the couch, where he'd thrown me down and grabbed me and took me.

My breath grows short and I'm about to faint. I have to get in here, change, and get out.

I take a step inside, grabbing my jacket off the floor- and then I realize.

He knows where I live. My rapist _knows_ where I _live_. He could be in here right now. He could be coming for me. He could be in the hallway and he could be coming for me.

I have to get out of here!

I stumble backwards and run. I just start running away as fast as I can. The pain from my leg may be fierce, but it's simply a backseat when compared to my terror.

I run for my life. I leap down the stairs and dash out of my apartment building, ignoring the looks I get from everybody on the street. I run from the memories, from the hurt, the blood. I run as fast as I can until I feel a sharp stab of pain and I collapse nearly automatically from the agony. I fall into the grass of Central Park, breathing hard, and it hurts so much I'd prefer to just pass out, to get away from it all.

But the thought of Danny makes me roll onto my back and look around frantically. I don't see him, but that doesn't mean he's not here. I stand slowly on my right leg and hobble over to the side of a building, leaning back against it and looking around worriedly. I don't see anyone. It's still very early and there's no crowd for him to blend into.

It's as I finally start to calm down that I realize I'm being silly. He wasn't there. I would have seen him. He's not here. I would see him. God, what just happened? Did I just have a panic attack?

No. I, Casey Novak, did not just have a panic attack. I'm fine.

But I'm not going up to that apartment again. I'm going to have to work with what I got from my jacket.

Well, aside from some more professional clothing, I also got everything from my pockets- my keys and my wallet. Well, I'm off better than before, but I still have no way to change clothes.

Well, Olivia and I are around the same size, and I have a key to her apartment. She's in Philadelphia for two more days. There's no way in hell I'm going back to my apartment.

Olivia's it is, then.

I flip through all the money in my wallet before I flag down a passing cab. I don't think I can make the journey to Olivia's place, and besides, she lives in a walk-up. There's no way I could walk all the way there _and_ climb up the stairs as well.

And, I feel safer in a car than I do out on a street. From a cab, I can focus and examine everybody else around me without the silent fear that they could get to me.

Once again, I find myself shifting uncomfortably, unable to find a position that doesn't cause pain in my leg.

If I'm being honest with myself, I don't feel too good about this. Olivia didn't give me her key so I could crash at her place when she was out of town. She gave me her key because she trusts me and I'm her friend. But I justify this to myself by saying that I'm not staying for long. Just to borrow some of her clothes. I've worn clothes of hers before, like when I spilled coffee on my shirt and had court in ten minutes. Surely, she wouldn't turn me down for something like this.

When I finally arrive at her apartment building, I head inside and walk towards the stairs. It doesn't look like it'll be easy, but there's no point in prolonging this. I start climbing the stairs, and, by now, I'm starting to worry that I'm going to tear my stitches. Maybe the doctor was right about me taking those crutches.

But how would I be able to explain that to people? God, I wasn't even able to come up with a believable excuse for Fin. Maybe I should start thinking about a cover story to give to people who ask any prying questions.

It isn't too hard for me to find a blouse and a pair of slacks for me to wear; a skirt is completely out of the question. I don't know how far down those scars go and I'm not too interested in looking in a mirror to find out. I don't want to see those damn scars. I don't want to see his initials in my leg.

I've never been in Olivia's apartment alone before. It feels a little strange, but I also feel slightly safer here than I did those short seconds I was in my apartment. I don't know if that's just because of the fact that I'm terrified of returning home or it's the fact that this is _Olivia's_ apartment that makes me feel better. Well, whatever it is, I almost don't want to leave. But I have work to do today. Danny never found out exactly where my office is- I'll be ensure to speak with receptionist and ask him not to tell anybody where my office was, regardless of who they claimed to be.

Well, there is a downside to that- I'll have to come up with an explanation. Actually, I'll need one for Fin, too; there's no way he believed my earlier lie.

Thinking so much about this makes my head spin. I want to focus on something simple. Like getting dressed- and so that's what I do. I leave my sweats on the edge of Olivia's bed and get dressed in her clothes slowly, painfully. I'll come back later tonight and change back. Then I head to her bathroom to put on some makeup so I'll look like a grown woman again; one who actually has slept in the past twenty four hours and isn't walking around like a shaky mess.

That's when I realize that I have a black eye.

Damn it! How come nobody told me? Now I need to explain it. A thousand and one excuses run through my mind, each more pathetic than the last. I work furiously with the makeup, trying to hide the signs of the swollen bruise, and finally settle on the explanation that I crashed my bike. That, too, has the added bonus of explaining why I'm not riding it to work.

When I'm finally ready to go, I examine myself critically in the mirror, making sure everything is in place. I'm wearing Olivia's boots, blouse, and slacks, and my jacket. There's a little bit of blood on it, but the jacket's black, so it's hard to see and there's not too much of it. My hair is less of a mess and looks a little more professional now that I've pulled it back into a low ponytail. I'd prefer to wash it… I can still feel the dried blood on the ends of my hair… but a shower can wait.

All in all, I don't look horrible. I don't look like a rape victim. But then, who does? I know it's silly. Anybody can be a rape victim; there's no telltale sign one could use to point at somebody and say that her, she's a rape victim. But I look okay.

All this running around town has really taken up a lot of time. It's almost eight- I really should be getting into work now.

So I head out. I lock up here and limp downstairs, calling another cab. What can I say? My leg hurts. I really don't have the money to take a cab everywhere, but, just this once, I'll indulge. After all, don't I deserve a break, today of all days?

It's on my way to the precinct that I finally look at the file Fin gave me. It seems I'll be assisting in the interrogation of a serial rapist, John Saks, who committed five different rapes in Manhattan in the past six months alone. When we issued a warrant for his arrest, he fled to Virginia, and was caught, out of all things, speeding. The cop recognized him and arrested him.

I'm not really looking forward to it. Usually, I enjoy my job. I enjoy going into the interrogation room and watching them turn down deals, thinking they have a chance at freedom, then seeing their faces when they finally realize that no, they don't. They don't have a chance at getting a not guilty verdict. I love seeing the horror when I trick them into handing over the evidence I need, I love how their faces fall and they try to fix their mistake, but they know there is no point in trying.

Somehow, though, I don't think I'll enjoy that today. I'm not very interested in being in the same room as a rapist. Not today..

And yet, they need me to be there. So I will be. This weekend, I can relax- but not today. I won't let Danny Garcia take my work from me, too.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the review!

**Chapter 3**

The first thing I do when I walk into the precinct is apologize to Fin. At least the squad room is empty besides the detective I'm looking for. This really doesn't have to be a public thing. The more people who know about it, the more people I have to explain this to.

"Hey, Fin," I say, attracting his attention. "Listen, I'm sorry about earlier. I don't know what came over to me; I really didn't mean to snap at you." I flash him what I hope is a convincing smile and lean heavier on my right leg. "See, I crashed my bike on my way to work. That's where I got the bruise from."

He shrugged. "No problem. Hey, we've got Saks in interrogation. His lawyer should be here any minute, and we're doing the line-up in half an hour. He says he wants to make a deal, but won't talk until his lawyer gets here."

_A deal? Why the hell would I give him a deal?_ My speech echoes my thoughts. "No. No deals. He doesn't deserve one."

Fin looks at me oddly. "Well, none of our perps do, Case. But we don't have much evidence against him, you know that. If he gives us a good deal, then we might have to take it."

And, just like that, I snap again. "You telling me how to do my job, Detective?" I snap. "If you disagree with what I'm doing, perhaps you should have gone to law school."

I turn and storm away, but I don't get far enough away to be out of earshot before he mutters, "Damn, what crawled up your ass, Novak?"

His offhand comment turns my stomach, and I nearly vomit. I stumble, but manage to keep walking away as fast as possible. I head towards the interrogation rooms and enter observation, leaning back against the one-way mirror and closing my eyes.

I'm crying. Again. What's wrong with me? My friends Abbie and Serena have said worse things to me than that before; what he said shouldn't have reduced me to tears. It shouldn't have even made me flinch, and yet, I can hardly breathe. Did he really have to cut right to the heart of the problem?

No. That's not the problem! The problem is that he wants to give a rapist a deal that he doesn't deserve. _That_ is the problem.

I turn around and look impassively at John Saks, sitting alone in the interrogation room. I stare into his dark eyes, and even though I know he can't see me, I feel like he's glaring right at me.

He's raped five women. And I don't want to talk to him- I don't want to be in the same room as him. And what happens when I prosecute him? When I'm questioning him on the stand and he's that close to me and he's telling me all about raping five women?

This is ridiculous. What happened last night should not be interfering in my life.

Once I've regained control of myself, I straighten my jacket and walk outside to see Fin and Cragen talking to… oh, what do you know. Trevor Langan.

I clear my throat. "Trevor."

He looks over at me and flashes me his overpriced smile. "Casey. You're just in time. I hope you're ready to reconsider charging my client?"

If Fin was able to annoy me today, who knows what Trevor Langan was capable of. Today is just getting worse and worse. "Go to hell, Langan."

Everyone looked at me in surprise. My dislike and rivalry with Langan is no secret, but I usually hide it better than this. Well, today I hate him a little more than usual, and I'm too tired to keep up with the usual charade.

"Temper, temper, Casey," he admonished with a small smile. "Well, what do you say? Shall we go see what my client has to say?"

"Whatever it is, I guarantee you it will not be enough for a deal," I snap, but head towards the interrogation room anyway. I don't exactly have a choice.

Trevor, Fin, and I enter the interrogation room, and Trevor immediately sits beside his client. "Detective Tutuola and ADA Novak are here to listen to what you have to say, John. I trust it will be enough to convince even stubborn Casey here to give you a deal."

Stubborn Casey? Oh, I'll show him stubborn. I can fight back like he wouldn't believe.

When I don't say anything, just glare at Trevor, John shrugs and starts talking. "Well, my friends are involved with some drug cartels. They're somewhat high on the food chain. If you arrested them, you could potentially shut a cartel down. In exchange, all I'm asking for is witness protection. My friends won't be too happy that I turn them in," he says with a small smile. He even winks at me.

It almost makes me laugh, really. Something as trivial as a drug dealer, compared to what he did? It's funny, actually. "Here's your deal, Saks. You turn in your drug dealer friends, and I charge you with five rapes."

My offer is posed so seriously and sincerely that I can feel Fin looking at me oddly, while John and Trevor just seem amused. It's the defense attorney who finally says, "Casey, you seem to misunderstand what a deal is. We give you something… you give us something. Quid pro quo!"

"_Exere et mori,_ Trevor. Don't quote Latin to someone who knows it. And you aren't getting any deal. You raped five women."

"You have no evidence."

"I have your DNA!"

He just laughed, like this whole thing was simply a game to him. "Not one of them said no, you know. None of them told me stop. If it was rape, I think they would have said no, don't you?"

My response dies in my mouth, because he's right. I didn't say no. I tried to; I remember that. I tried to say no and to scream as loud as I could- but I hadn't been able to. He'd been sitting on my chest and I had barely been able to breathe; I literally hadn't had enough oxygen to scream.

What if I had said no? Would he have stopped?

No, it's not my fault! I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't ask for this. What he did to me... it was wrong, and unfair, and cruel, and… just… _wrong_. It's not my fault; he hadn't had the right to do that to me. It doesn't matter that I didn't tell him no. I had been fighting him with everything I had in me. It's not my fault. What he did was wrong.

And it bothers me that I have to keep convincing myself that.

The entire room is waiting for my response. I finally manage to stammer, my voice icy cold despite the fact that it's also shaky, "They couldn't scream. You wouldn't let them. You knew that they didn't want you but you did it anyway. It was wrong and I'm not going to let you get away with it."

All of them look at me strangely again. It's Trevor who speaks up. "Detective, it seems Casey here is a little involved in the case. Perhaps she should step outside and we can continue this discussion without her."

I'm fine. Nothing's wrong with me. I'm not going to let what happened last night affect me at work. "No!" I gasp, my pale hands clenching into fists as I lean forward desperately. "No! …I mean, no, there is no discussion.. I'm the ADA on this case and I say no deal."

I get up and stalk to the door. I know I'm not going to get far. I don't care; my only goal is to get as far away from that man as possible. Predictably, I've only made it a few steps outside the interrogation room before I hear Fin behind me. "Novak, what the hell is wrong with you? You know we don't have a case solid enough to risk this."

I turn around and glare at him. "So what? He doesn't deserve a deal. I'd rather try him as a rapist and lose than let him get off in exchange for a few drug dealers."

I start to turn away, but he grabs me by the elbow and starts, "Casey, listen, I don't know what's gotten in to you today. But if you can't look at this objectively, then maybe you should sit this one out."

I'm not listening. I'm too shocked and frightened. His hand is still on my arm, and, it's odd- I'm not frightened. But my skin burns where his hand is... it burns and prickles and it makes me nervous. It's almost unbearable until I rip my hand away from him and rub my wrist. The sudden movement hurts my shoulder and now, all I want to do is get out of here. "Fin, I'm fine. I'm taking him to court and I'm going to win. I don't care what kind of deal Langan offers you. Now, I have work to do. Call me if you need me."

I leave before he can stop me. I have to get out of here. It hurts- perhaps more physically than mentally, at this point- and I want to be alone.

When I finally stumble into my office- nearly four hours after I first found out I was locked out- I'm exhausted and just want to go to sleep. It takes me a minute to realize that I haven't really slept for almost two days. But I have work to do, so I will wait until tonight to give into to the thoughts of heavenly sleep and sweet dreams that keep working their way into my mind.

A deep sigh escapes my lips as I limp towards my desk, holding my injured arm against my chest. God. It certainly didn't hurt this much this morning. Holding back tears of pain, I grab the duffel bag out from under my desk and sift through it, searching for my scarf. Actually, it was a gift from my father. It wasn't much, just a thin piece of cloth one would wear to a fashion benefit or a gala- not exactly my kind of thing- but I kept it to remind me of home. It seems that today, it will serve two purposes. I wrap it around my wrist and turn it into a sort of a makeshift sling. I tie it tightly before leaning back in my seat and tucking a hand behind my head. My leg still hurts, but I don't really have a way to fix that, do I? Might as well get to work.

Ten minutes later, I've only managed to fill out a few lines because my leg is bothering me so much. I continued shifting my weight uncomfortably for a few more seconds before finally getting to my feet and making my way towards my couch. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but finally, my leg is draped over the arm of the couch, I'm leaning back against several pillows, and about as comfortable as possible. It still hurts, of course, but nowhere near as much as before.

Now, I'm finally settled in and can do some work. It's a little hard to write, as I'm right-handed and that's the shoulder I dislocated, but I manage. And, thankfully, I am undisturbed as I work. Which is good, because I have enough distractions as it is.

I can't stop thinking about what happened. It's not my fault; I know it's not. I tired to scream, I tried to yell, I tried to say no- I just didn't have the oxygen. I remember that.

It is _not_ my fault. But it does bother me that I have to keep reaffirming that. I should know that, shouldn't I? After what I see everyday? I should know that it's not my fault without even having to say it.

Sighing in disgust, I drop my pen and lean my head back. How did this happen? How did I end up on the floor, with Danny in complete and total control?

I can't remember. And that's what's really disturbing.

I walked into my apartment… and he was there. I remember thinking it was strange that my door was unlocked. That I remembered locking it that morning. I'd stepped inside, and Danny was sitting on the couch. I'd been too shocked to scream… something I probably should have done. Too shocked to run, another brilliant idea I hadn't thought of. I'd stepped forward… asked him what he was doing in my apartment, and…

And what? I ended up on the floor. But how? I can't remember.

That's what's bothering me the most.

* * *

I have done the unthinkable: I have managed to transform four hours of paperwork into eight. Really, I must have a masochistic streak in me to have accomplished this.

It's half past five… but I'm not hungry, really. I just want to go home. For this day to end. It's been awful, by all accounts, and I can't wait to go to sleep so as to usher on tomorrow.

There's a problem, though- I'm not going home.

Danny knows where I live, yes, but… that's not the problem. Well, it's part of it, I'm not going to lie to myself- but that's not the reason I'm most afraid of tackling.

This morning, I stepped inside, and I saw where I had been raped. The sight alone was enough to give me such a terror I never want to go back there. Hell, I nearly had a panic attack. It truly seems like an unconquerable goal, to enter my apartment and stand where I was raped and not panic. I don't see the point of even trying to return there again- I don't care to try, either.

But where am I going to go? I have court tomorrow- the Saks case was postponed by Trevor while he scrambled to find more evidence against my case- so I really do need to pick up my briefcase from my place. And, on top of that- where am I going to sleep? I could get a hotel room, I suppose.

I need to head back to Olivia's, though. My clothes from earlier are still there and I'm still wearing one of her few suits. I could just head back to my apartment… somehow get my briefcase… then swing by her place, change, and get a hotel room for the night.

I was hoping to spend the entire cab ride over contemplating how to get my briefcase and worrying about it, but I get a phone call when I'm about a mile away. I check the caller ID; it's Cragen. Wonderful. "Hello?"

"Casey, it's the Captain. I called your office, but they said you just left. I just got a message from Olivia; she's not getting back in town until next week. It's a long story; she ended up being a witness to a crime and she's actually being called to testify, so she can't leave town."

"Oh my god, what happened?"

"Long story," he scoffed. "You really don't want to know. But I thought I should let you know, just in case she has to testify in any of your upcoming cases."

"Ah… no, I don't think she does. Thank you, though." We exchange the usual pleasantries before hanging up.

I wonder what happened to Olivia. I hope she's all right.

Well, on the upside, this means there is absolutely no chance of her walking in on me in her apartment. Still though… it nearly makes me cry._ Again._

I suppose it makes me selfish that I want my friend here with me. It's not like I would tell her what happened, but I still really could use her company. Well, I guess I'll just have to control myself until she gets back. It's not as if I could call her; I'd have to be able to provide an explanation. And I don't have one.

Not for anything, really. Not anymore.

_The latin Casey said to Trevor somewhat translates to, 'burn up and die'. That's the product of four years of latin classes, folks!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

This is it. I've just got to step inside, grab my briefcase, and run.

I'm scared. There, I said it. And the longer I stand out here in the hallway, the more frightened I become. He could be here. Danny could be here, or he could be coming- I have to get out of here as soon as possible.

So, here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath, I fling open my door, my eyes scanning my apartment worriedly. I don't see him. I start to run into my apartment, then freeze.

_He throws me to the ground. He's on top of me. He's pinning my wrists above my head and laughing in my face. Telling me I'm not strong enough to get out from under him._

I have to get out of here!

I stumble backwards, choking back fear and some of the worst terror I have ever known. I can't leave; I came here for a purpose, damn it, and I'm not going to leave until I've fulfilled it.

Another ragged breath, this one coming harder than the last. An awfully familiar panic is starting to rise within my chest and I take another step. Unfortunately for me, my briefcase is is lying on the floor, half-under my couch. There's no way to get around it; I have to walk over the scene of the crime.

I hesitate, my heart pounding, as I take another step. One more, and then I hit the first patch of blood.

That's when my feet start to born.

It's like when Fin touched my arm earlier. The sensation is identical and I can feel the fire under my skin spreading higher up my body as I step forward again. The burning grows worse, whiplashing up my legs with a vengeance and I can hardly stand it now. I'm shaking badly when I'm finally able to reach out and grasp my briefcase; the blood on the handle makes my fright worse and that's it; I can't handle it anymore. The fire in my limbs is only growing and I dash away as fast as I can.

It isn't until I reach the elevator doors close that I finally start to calm down. The harsh pain from the fresh cuts helps bring me back to reality, and I rest a hand over my pounding heart as I pant.

I've never felt anything like that before. And I instantly know that conquering that fear of standing over exactly where I was raped is impossible. It's not an obstacle I can ever see myself conquering, nor am I interested in even trying. Simply something I'm going to have to accept; something I already have, in fact. There is no possible way I could ever return there.

The handle of my briefcase in encrusted with dried blood. Damn. I had just bought the thing a week ago- I really liked it, too.

Well, now that's all said and done, so there's no use crying over spilled milk. For now, it's back to Olivia's, then to a hotel room. I'll figure out what to do from there later tonight.

* * *

Oh, I'm selfish. I'm acting like a selfish, spoiled brat right now and I know it, but I don't care.

Right now, I'm sprawled on my stomach on Olivia's couch, my arm in my scarf/sling, watching TV, a bottle of cheap beer resting on the table in front of me. I feel safe here. Much more safe than I could ever feel at home right now.

Yes, I know. I'd been planning on just getting changing and leaving her apartment the way I found it, but, my leg had been hurting so much I hadn't been able to stand it. So, I'd lied down on her bed to wait until the pain passed, or at least got bearable, but… I felt safe there. I knew Danny couldn't find me here.

So now, I'm out here on Olivia's couch, probably as comfortable as I've been since yesterday morning. The silky scarf is more comfortable than a sling would be, at any rate. I've also attacked these sweatpants with a pair of scissors and cut one leg short enough that the rough fabric doesn't rub against the raw cuts and stitches. I'm in as little pain as possible, I'm on my best friend's couch, and, of course, there's the cheap booze. Synonym for heaven, no?

It's late, and, during commercials, I work on the few files I had in my briefcase. I do have the entire weekend and I really don't had much to do, but I don't really pay much attention to the time. It's half past one when I finally glance at the clock. "Well, I was always a night person rather than a morning one," I deadpanned to myself, chuckling bitterly. Well, I haven't got that much work done; TV is rather distracting. I guess I'll stay awake for another half hour.

I can't get what happened at work today out of my head. That interrogation was an absolute mess, and I can't even try to deny it. But while I know work is going to be hell on Monday because of it… for once, that's not what's worrying me. It's the fact that I can't remember nearly anything about the attack.

Not just that, really, but that's a big part. However, there's also this little minor problem of the fact that I have to keep assuring myself that what happened isn't my fault. I should know that, and yet…

I sigh heavily, resting the urge to roll onto my back. It hurts my leg too much, and, for once, I want to focus on what I'm thinking about. "It's not my fault," I mumble aloud. "What he did to me was wrong. He shouldn't have done it. It wasn't my fault."

I don't know if I believe my own words.

Shaking my head, I turn the TV off and get unsteadily to my feet. I can't think about this anymore. After everything that has happened, I think tonight, of all nights, I deserve a rest.

No. I'm going to keep everything normal. I will do everything as I usually do, and I'm not just going to lay back down on the couch and go to sleep. I still have things to do tonight, and I shall not ignore them.

I'm combing my long red hair out in the bathroom when I notice the shower. It seems like an attribute always applied to rape victims- they take long showers, because it helps them feel clean. I myself haven't really thought about it, but hey, I'll try anything once.

It's really late, but I don't have to get up tomorrow morning, so I turn on the shower and begin undressing. I leave the scarf on the sink; I'll need that for later- same the mutilated sweatpants. The sweatshirt is really too warm for summer anyway; I'll change into something else after the shower.

I've been putting this off for a while, now; ever since I found about the cuts this morning. I know I have to look at them. I have to see what he did to me.

And there's no time like the present.

"Come on, Casey, just do it," I murmur before turning my back and looking over my shoulder at the mirror. I'm holding my breath, but what I see next makes me let it out in a shocked gasp.

It's so much worse than I could have ever imagined. There's no blood, not anymore, just two spiky letters carved into my pale skin, formed by stitches. The wounds are neat and clean, now, though I'm sure they were so covered in blood last night one probably wouldn't even be able to tell the original cuts were actual letters- I'm sure, once the stitches are removed, the scars will remain. Those two letters, branded into my skin forever.

I slam my hands down on the counter in disgust and fury. Damn it! This is so unfair. I won't be able to even wear something as revealing as a swimsuit now without people looking at me and seeing them. And sure, there's probably laser surgery that would make them less noticeable; that's what the doctor said. But then, doctors always say that. I'm sure it's a lie.

Furious now, I storm into the shower. I want to try and wash those cuts right off, but I can't; doctor said I can't get the stitches wet. "Well, fuck him," I mutter, trying my best to shake out my hair under the spray. Once more, I feel guilty as I grab a bottle of shampoo- I'm using Olivia's apartment, clothes, hot water… what's next?

But then, I understand. It all makes sense to me now. Of course rape victims always take long showers; this is perfect.

The hot water- or, as hot as my damaged and bruised skin can bear- feels nice. I feel so dirty, and I try and scrub my wrists where one of his hands had pinned them against them ground. There are finger marks on them, black bruises that ache when I expose them to the hot water and rub them roughly, and it's the ache I want. The ache feels good, like I'm actually accomplishing something.

It doesn't take long for me to negate that thought. No, I'm not. I'm not getting any cleaner by doing this. I just feel dirtier and dirtier the harder and longer I try to wash everything away. Finally, my hot tears blending with the water pouring over my body, I shut off the shower and grab a towel, shaking my head in defeat. I feel even worse than I did before.

By the time I finally stumble back to the couch, I'm not crying anymore, but my the feeling in my chest is tight and raw and painful, and it's unbearable. I feel like I'm on the edge of a breakdown, and a glance at the clock nearly tips me over the edge- it's two in the morning.

Taking in a deep, shuddering breath, I turn off the lamp and lay down on my stomach once again. I'm not going to use Olivia's bed; even though she's not here, I'd still feel awful about it. I'm wearing an old, raggedy NYPD shirt of hers, though, along with my scarf-sling and those personalized sweats. I pull the afghan draped over the back of the couch, letting it fall over me as I try and make myself comfortable. It isn't easy, with my arm tucked uncomfortably against my stomach and my good leg slipping haphazardly off the tiny couch, and finally, I just give up.

I close my eyes, turning my head to the side and hoping that, tonight of all nights, I don't sit here thinking before I fall asleep. Tonight, I just want sleep to claim me.

But I can't. I can't just close my eyes and got to sleep. Before I know it, I'm crying again. All-out sobbing, really, for the first time since I was raped. For some reason, it's just the thought of continuing the normal cycle from one day to next, without any disruption, that puts a knife in my heart. It hurts too much to know that the world, me, we're both just continuing on, regardless of what happened. I can't help it; it makes me cry and I don't even fully understand why.

The heart ache hurts so much I can't stand it. More than anything, I want Olivia here with me. I want sitting beside me, I want her here with her arms wrapped around me and telling me it'll be all right.

I just need a friend right now.

But I'm alone here. In all of this, I will always be alone. So I wrap my good arm around the pillow and sob even harder, crying myself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the review! **  
**

**Chapter 5**

The blurry numbers shift in and out of focus- it takes me a moment to see that it's eight o'clock on the dot. I sigh, pushing myself slowly upright and stretching my aching muscles. I stare at the clock, trying to get motivated to stand up, before I realize why the clock is making me feel so uncomfortable.

_He throws me down, forcing my head to the side. I didn't know what was going on, I didn't understand. But I can see a clock..._

_Twenty six minutes later, I can still see it as he finally releases me. _

I shudder almost involuntarily, reaching over and turning the clock around. The memory made me feel slightly sick, and I stand up, walking aimlessly towards the kitchen.

I didn't dream last night. In all six hours of sleep, I don't remember any dreams. I suppose I'm grateful for that; one would think that I would have nightmares.

I shake my head at the thought, heading to Olivia's fridge and beginning to search for anything edible. No, just because I was raped does not mean I will become any one of the brokenhearted, lost women I see and work with every day. I am _fine_.

There's nothing in Olivia's refrigerator save for the cheap alcohol I made a dent on last night- oh, well. I'm not really a breakfast person anyway. A bowl of cereal is the most I'll do, and that's on the weekends. Even then, when I'm so bored I have nothing else to do. Too much rich food in the mornings makes me nauseous, and now, when there is already a hard knot in the pit of my stomach? No thank you.

It's Saturday. I don't have work. Normally, I'd go out for a run or to the batting cages- can't do either in my condition. I'm not really in the mood to just lie around Olivia's apartment and watch TV… I suppose I could go into work, despite the fact that it's Saturday. There's always more paperwork, right?

No, my leg hurts too much. I have to limp to even walk at all and I remember how hard it was to work yesterday, with my leg and my arm. I suppose I'll stay here. I do have those files in my briefcase that I was working on last night. One would thing there is absolutely nothing more I could do to prepare for court, but hey, there's not such a thing as too prepared, as they say.

I take another burning hot showe-r- because yes, I suppose it made me feel worse last night, but I want another one. It's when I'm combing my hair out that I realize I'm starving. My stomach is growling and Olivia's cheap beer is not going to satisfy it. It takes a minute to realize that I didn't have dinner last night. I'm actually a little dizzy, come to think of it.

Well, I suppose I could order out. It's a little early for takeout, but I'm _really_ hungry and I'm not interested in heading out into public. I look horrible and I know it.

I curl up into a loose ball on the couch, tying my dripping hair back into a ponytail. I can hold out for a few more hours; I'll order some food when it's closer to noon. Until then, though, I need to find something to keep myself occupied. I suppose I could call Olivia and find out what happened to keep her in Philadelphia.

Really, it's the least I could do- after all, I'm using her apartment without even bothering to ask or tell her.

Finally, I grab my cell phone off the table and dial her number- whether it's to really find out what's happened to her or because I just need a friend right now, I don't know. Probably a combination of both.

The phone rings three times before Olivia answers. "Hello?"

"Hey, Olivia, it's Casey. It's not a bad time, is it?"

Olivia sighs, and I lean back against the couch, glad to have my friend's voice with me. She's already distracted me. "No," she says. "You're just interrupting my week long imprisonment in the boring city of Phili. I'm in Starbucks; the crappy motel room the police here have put me up in for the week is too awful to spend time in. I'm actually afraid to sleep there; who knows what disease I'll get. So, what do you need?"

I smile, laughing in spite of myself. "Well, I'm actually quite bored myself. The captain didn't tell me much; so I decided to call you and find out why exactly you're stuck in Philadelphia. If it's really that horrible, I'm sure I could have a few words with the ADA and get you home sooner."

Olivia chuckled again. "No, it's fine. Thank you, though. And, the reason I'm stuck here is because I was a witness to a shooting yesterday. The other two witnesses are a little girl too young to testify and a drub addict who's testimony isn't even admissible. So the prosecution subpoenaed me to testify and I can't leave until I have. You know, it would have been nice to get away from the courtroom and perps for the weekend."

"I'd bet. Well, nothing much if happening up here. We've got a tough case, but that's par for course around here. El and Munch are still off work, so it's just me and Fin… truth to be told, I think Fin's a little mad at me."

"Oh really? What'd you do?"

I hesitate before deciding to tell a half-truth. "It's a very long story. He wants to give a perp a deal, and I disagree. Don't worry, I'm sure it'll all be water under the bridge by the time you get back. We get new cases so often we can't afford to hold grudges for very long."

"Right. Well, you two, behave. I don't want to get back and- damn it. Hold on for a second, Case, I've got another call. …and, it's the ADA. Sorry, I'm going to have to let you go."

"I understand. Bye, Liv."

"Bye."

Once Olivia hangs up, I lie back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a smile. Talking to Olivia had helped- more than I expected it would, honestly. I feel much better and decide that I'm up for doing more than lying on the couch. All right, so my leg and shoulder are a little sore. I can still work.

Lucky for me, my laptop just happened to be in my briefcase when I grabbed it and ran. So, with as prepared for trial as I'm going to get, I check my email before researching all recent cases and changes to sex crimes laws. Anything important would have been in the news, but you never know what minor changes to the law can save a court case.

No matter how driven I am, picking through the intricate, complex workings of New York law is not easy. It gives me a headache and by noon, I can't stand it anymore. "Ugh!" I cry in frustration, slamming my laptop shut and throwing my head back against the couch. "Oh, for the love of god. Is it really too hard to write in plain English?" I get up angrily and stalk back into her kitchen, fully aware that I'm more upset over this than I should be. Well, today I just don't give a damn. I'm tired, I'm in pain, and I just spent three hours picking through legislation that would confuse Judge Taft- I think I deserve the right to be a little pissed off.

I order a pizza and watch TV until it arrives, but when it does, I can't motivate myself to keep working on New York law. It's not that daytime TV is that interesting; in fact, it's mind-numbingly boring. And that's not what I want. I want- no, I _need_ something to hold my interest right now. Sitting here idle isn't helping anybody.

So, while I eat, I watch TV and force myself to return to my case files. I laugh bitterly when I realize I could never be this comfortable in my own home again. "To Olivia," I murmur to myself, toasting my glass of water to empty air. "Who knows what I'll do when she gets back in town."

The hours pass and I make little progress on my work. I'm exhausted due to only getting six hours of sleep last night and nearly none the night before, my leg and shoulder ache- though that may be more to me over-using them yesterday- and, just like yesterday, I'm a mess. I think I cried three (four?) times today. I hate crying, and I hardly ever do it.

"Damn it, Danny," I mutter harshly under my breath when I glance at the clock and see it's midnight. "Why the hell did you have to screw everything up?"

Well, I might as well take a shower and go to bed. It's late and I don't feel like doing anything but getting some well-deserved sleep. When I get up off the couch for the first time in- my god, at least ten hours- I nearly scream in pain when my leg protests and practically cripples me. I would have fallen if I hadn't managed to use the couch as a crutch. "Son of a bitch!" I gasp through my teeth and double over in agony, slamming my fist against my good leg and forcing back the scream rising in my throat.

Hot tears form in my eyes and I fight them with all my strength. Emotional pain, I can try to deal with. Physical pain, though, that's something I can actually tame and and conquer, if you will. I won't cry because of that.

When I can finally walk again, I limp towards her bathroom and turn on the shower. Once again, I untie my scarf and grab a spare shirt of Olivia's, resolving to somehow find a way to pay her back for this.

My injured shoulder looks okay. I know, I know, dislocated shoulders aren't usually accompanied with bruises or swelling, but as long as no one walks in and sees me with my scarf-sling, I'm good. The stitches on my leg aren't looking any better than before, but I suppose that's to be expected. And, just like last night, the hot water hurts my skin, and I still ignore it.

Still wearing those torn sweats and my scarf, which is starting to fray, I work on my files until two in the morning, just like last night. Then I turn the TV and lights off and settle in for another night of sleeping on my stomach on the couch. I still can't bring myself to sleep in Olivia's bed. Maybe it's because I know that I'm not here permanently. I don't want to get used to sleeping here and get comfortable before being forced to move again once Olivia returns from Philadelphia. It'll be better for me in the end if I just treat her apartment as what it really is- a temporary place to crash.

After another night of six hours of sleep, I leave my sling and my torn sweats in her apartment and head out. The return of the pain last night made me realize that, if I intend to be able to focus in court on Monday, I need learn how to work past the pain. Despite- or perhaps because of- almost remaining on the couch for the entire day, my leg hurts even more. Well, I suppose that I'm lucky that at least my shoulder doesn't hurt as much.

I walk briskly down the street, doing my best not lapse into a limp. Yes, it does hurt even worse, but that's not the point. Since there are few people out on the streets this early on a Sunday, I'm able to walk as slowly as I need to, until I can move faster.

Now that I'm out and about, I'm starting to feel much better. Like I'm reclaiming who I used to be and finally getting back on my feet after what happened. Yes, I shirked my responsibilities these past few days and relaxed on the couch, letting myself explode into violent outbursts the one day I was at work- but I'm finally feeling like myself again.

After I've been walking for about an hour, my mind starts to wonder to less pleasant topics- such as where on earth I'm going to live now. I may be feeling a little better, but I just can't see myself walking back in there, over where I was raped. The very thought is laughable.

I suppose I can always just get a new apartment and hire a moving crew for all of my things. I'll need to call one of those businesses that cleans crime scenes for all the blood, though. It would be cheaper to just pour a whole bottle of bleach in there- it wouldn't look wonderful, but that's not the point. The point is to erase any evidence that a crime ever happened in my apartment.

I've been walking for over two hours, reducing my leg to nothing but a numb stump, I finally decide to give it a rest. The streets are starting to fill up with people and I'm starting to feel worse and worse about this. I find myself looking around uncertainly, focusing on everybody around me. Are they bigger than me? Could they hurt me?

Finally, I give up. The shock, the fear that practically pummels me- I can't stand it anymore. I hurry into the nearest Starbucks, buy a cup of coffee, and lower my trembling body into a seat, still focusing on everybody around me.

It's not enough. People enter the shop, and I feel my heart rate increase as I look frantically over my shoulder every time I hear the door open. I know I look like a paranoid freak; I don't care. I keep looking worriedly around the small cafe, checking each and every person to make sure they're not able to hurt me.

Finally, I get the idea to simply sit in the corner. That way, I can see everybody, and no one can sneak up on me. After I switch seats, the panicky feelings in my chest does dissipate, if only slightly.

It seems I can't just sit and enjoy my coffee. My mind is wonders back to that night, and… I can't remember. I honestly can't remember it. I know I was raped. I know I fought back. I remember trying to bite him, I remember him dislocating my shoulder, I remember grabbing the plastic bowl and hitting him so hard, so many times, it broke- but that's it. I can't remember what _actually_ happened, just a few short flashes. Everything else? It's just a blur.

I should be able for remember it. That wasn't any other night, for god's sakes; I was frightfully aware and awake and fighting throughout the entire twenty six minutes. I should be able to remember every single second of it.

And I think I know why I can't.

_I still can't scream when he pulls me back by my wrists and my hair so I'm on my knees with him sitting on my legs, making it nearly impossible for me to move. And that's when I realize- but no. My mind rebels against the very thought of what I want- no, NEED- to do. 'You won't remember this, you'll get a concussion, no, no, no!_

_But my logical thoughts can not be conquered by my survival instincts, no matter how horrible my imagination may be. And so, I jerk my head up, smashing it against his jaw once, twice, there's a sickening crack, and-_

Gasping, I force my eyes open and fight off my terror, refusing to let myself continue with that line of thought. The memory loss… is it permanent? Is it my fault? I don't know the answer to the first question, but the second one? Yes. A resounding yes. I had known what I was doing when I slammed my head up into his. I had known it could cause memory loss and had done it anyway.

With a low groan, I lean back in my chair and run a hand through my hair. I know the memory loss is my fault. I'm not even going to try and say anything otherwise. Is the rape my fault, though?

I have to seriously consider the question for a few moments before I decide that there is no answer to that one.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"John Saks agrees to having sex with Melinda Ross, Emily Carvanass, Sarah Johnson, Charlotte Smith, and Kristen Freeman. This is not disputed. There is DNA evidence to show for it, and even the defendant himself agrees that the act itself took place."

Every jurors' eyes are on me, and I have to remind myself to take a deep breath and stay calm. Saks is glaring at me as well, but I have to trust that if he tries anything, the court officers will stop him.

It's going to be a struggle to continue from here on out. Opening arguments can not, ironically, sound or be argumentative. So, even though I know that he raped those five women, I still can not let it color my voice, my words. "However, as you will soon hear, each one of those women claims that this sex was not consensual. The People's witnesses speaks to the fact that this sex was, in fact, rape. At the end of this trial, I will speak to you again, after you have seen and all the evidence pointing to the defendant's guilt, not innocence. Thank you."

Trevor glares at me when I walk back to my table, limping ever so slightly- my exercise yesterday did the trick. And I can guess why he's angry; my opening statement was very close to being argumentative. In fact, probably the only reason he didn't object is an objection during opening arguments is nearly always considered the epitome of unprofessional and petty behavior in a courtroom.

I could have done better, I know that. Perhaps it's my exhaustion. I'd been intending to go to sleep two hours earlier last night, since I had to get up two hours sooner in the morning for work. Instead, I'd taken a shower at midnight and worked until two in the morning, then gotten up at six. I'm so tired I can hardly stand, but this trial is not about me. It's about the five women who deserve justice.

Trevor stands and begins his opening arguments, and I force myself to listen. Personally, I don't see the point in them even trying; five victims versus the pathetic argument that Saks believed they wanted it? He might as well just give up now.

Trevor never was one for just taking the easy route, though. He sung his client's praises and I found myself trembling when he attacked the victims, as I had expected him to do. "The People would have you believe that my client was aware of those women's alleged wishes, but there is little evidence for this fact, as you will see in the coming days. After all, even the women admit that they did not say no."

My pencil nearly snaps in my hand and an objection is already on my lips when he says that he is finished. The smirk on his face is especially for me- probably pay back for me borderline opening arguments. I'd rather he'd hit me than take it out on the victims, but that's not the only reason I'm so furious.

I know I didn't say no. I know, and I'm so sorry. I should have yelled for him to stop! God, why didn't I?

"Court is adjourned for now; we'll meet back tomorrow at ten. Be ready to call your first witness, Ms. Novak."

Thank god. I'm shaking and I don't think I can make my first witness walk me and the court through the evening of her rape. My only goal is to get out of here- get out of here and break down in private, because I can feel the beginning of tears coming, and I can't keep calm much longer. I gather my papers and shove them into my briefcase, getting to my feet and preparing to rush out of the courtroom… and then I catch sight of one of the victims.

She's a few years younger than me, with medium-length brown hair and eyes, eyes which are currently glazed over and slowly filling with tears. She's looking away, staring down at her skirt, biting her quivering lower lip and trembling ever so slightly. The sight almost breaks my heart.

And then there's Trevor. Sitting there, conversing quietly with his client, as if he had done nothing wrong. I couldn't take it. I storm over to him, hardly remembering to keep my voice level as I snap at him, "What the hell was that, Trevor?"

He glance up at me in surprise, then stands. Fin and Munch, who is finally off medical leave, are coming up beside me, but I ignore them completely- this isn't about them. "You've got some explaining to do yourself, Casey."

"You didn't have to take it out on the victims."

"_Alleged_ vic-"

"Oh, save it for the trial. And, next time? Go after me, not the victims. Just because they didn't say no doesn't meaning _anything_." It can't mean anything. I'm really sorry. I tried to scream, I did, I tried to make enough noise so a neighbor would hear me and call the police.

I need to get out of here. If I'm here much longer, chances are, I won't be able to control myself and I'll probably hit the bastard. I hurry out of the courtroom and lean against the wall, my chest heaving, my hands trembling as I fight to to regain my calm.

It's John's hand on my shoulder that brings me back to reality. "Casey?" he asks, looking at me in concern, his partner by his side. "You all right?"

And, just like that, my panic is a forgotten nightmare. I shake him off- because he's managing to make my skin burn, just like Fin did on Friday, not to mention he's holding my injured shoulder- and ask, "What? Yes, I'm fine." It's as if the very appearance of my friend was enough to shock me out of my panicky haze. I straighten my shirt and shake my long hair out over my shoulders, flashing him what I hope is a convincing smile. "I'm okay."

"What happened in there?" he asks, and the look on his face worries me. He suspects something. That's not good.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say with an easy smile. "John, it's good to see you again. I didn't know you were back at work. How's your arm?"

He frowns, but when he answers my question, I know he's decided to let what happened in the courtroom go. "It's fine. Sling's annoying as hell, though. I think I'm allergic to the velcro."

"That's my partner," Fin grumbled. "Nothing if not a hypochondriac."

"Complain all you want. You know you love me."

Fin rolled his eyes. "Thin line between love and hate, Munch. Well, we'll see you in court tomorrow, Case." They two walk away, still bickering like two brothers, and it makes me laugh. It's like they made all my worries and troubles disappear, because my panic from earlier is gone. I feel good, actually. What happened in court is still in mind, but it's not blocking out the rest of the world and stealing the air from my lungs like it was earlier. Thank god for Munch and Fin.

* * *

Olivia is still in Philadelphia, so I'm surprised when her partner walks into my office. His face is pale and gaunt, and there are dark circles under his eyes- he looks absolutely exhausted. "Elliot?" I ask uncertainly. "Oh my god- you look awful."

"I know." His voice is just as haggard and exhausted as he looks, and he leans heavily against my door, sticking his hands in his pockets and sighing. "Thanks for the compliment."

"Sorry… how's Maureen?" Elliot's eldest daughter had been in the hospital since Thursday after being hit by a car. All I know is that he had taken Friday off work to stay with her and his wife.

He shrugs tiredly. "Okay. Doing better. The doctors said that she can go home tomorrow."

"Then what are you doing here? You should be at the hospital with her; Olivia's not even back yet." I walk around to sit on the edge my desk, watching as he nods and sighs again.

"I needed to wrap some things up at work; I'm planning on staying home tomorrow when we get to get Maureen out of that hospital. I was actually about to head back to the hospital from the squad room, but Cragen asked me to stop by your office. He says that we just got a break in the Dowing case and that you should start getting ready to take it to court soon. He gave you the files last week, he said."

The Dowing case? I vaguely remember what he's talking about. A college student's boyfriend had caused a miscarriage, which we'd only found out after an unrelated charge of assault against him. It wasn't going to be an easy case to prosecute, under any circumstances, but right now, I'll take anything over a rape case. But where on earth did I leave the file? I took it home last week to review it, I know that much. And then…

Oh, god, it's in my apartment.

"Thanks for the head's up, Elliot," I choke out. It's suddenly hard to breathe and I close my eyes, trying not to get dizzy. "I'll be sure to get right on that." I can't go back there. It's impossible.

"Yeah, sure." He groans, them pushes himself off the all and heads for the door. "I'll probably be back at work Wednesday, Thursday at the latest."

I nod and watch as he leaves. I wait until the door closes, to cover my face with my hands and sink to the floor.

All I know is, that file is somewhere in the mess of papers on my coffee table. I can't do it like I did last time; just reach out, grab the briefcase, and run. I have to actually go in there and sort through all those files to find the right one.

But I can't do it. I already know that I can't.

"No, Casey," I mutter under my breath harshly, forcing myself to stand. "You going to start forgetting what's important now? You're doing this for the victims. Not yourself. You're going to get that file."

A glance at the clock brings me closer to the door. It's four in the afternoon; I could try and put this off for as long as possible, and normally, that'd be my style. But no. I'm eager to get to Olivia's tonight, where I'm safe.

I suppose I don't have a choice. I have to do this.

With a sigh, I grab my briefcase and button up my coat, stumbling towards the door. There is no use putting off the inevitable. I thought I would never have to go there again… I guess I was wrong.

People are just coming home by the time I arrive at my apartment. Inside, I find the same blood-covered, frightening scene that I left. The blood doesn't fail to freak me out, and I have to fight my instincts telling me to run. Find some other way to do this- anything but this.

No. I have to do this.

Shutting and locking my door behind me, I leave my things by the door and take a few slow steps forward. I'm fine, though the sight of all my blood still captivates me. But I'm okay, at least, until I reach the edge of my coffee table.

That's when the burning comes back.

I jump back, like my floor is a bed of hot coals and I just stepped right on it. A soft whimper arises from my throat, and a strange feeling is caught in my chest when I look at the floor. It's almost like… fear.

All right, yes, Casey Novak is afraid of her own apartment. Fine. I am.

But I'm here for a god damn reason, and I'm not about to leave before I find that file.

"All right, Casey. You can do this. Just take another step forward." I take a deep breath, then take a small step forward once again.

The burning returns immediately. It's like the bottom of my feet are on fire- but I don't jump back this time. I take another step, and the fire burns even worse. It's spread up my ankles and my skin prickles and burns even worse now, and I have to fight every instinct I have to not jump back and run for my life.

I take another step, then leap back like something bit me. It's like an actual, physical battle to take each step forward, and I'm losing.

It's no longer about the file. I'm not about to give this up now and fail myself.

I slowly bring my foot forward, a whimper arising from my throat because this is actually physically painful. Planting my foot in the carpet, I try to move forward once again, but I just can't do it. It's too hard. Reaching out as far as I can, I grab as many files as I can before scampering back, to where I'm safe, where my skin isn't on fire anymore.

Sinking to the ground, I start to pick through the files, then hesitate. This isn't right. I scoot back on the floor so my back is to the wall and I can see the doorway, then sigh as some of the tension and fear eases from my muscles.

I flip through the files and am relieved when I find the one I came here for. There's no need to stay here anymore. Tucking the files under my arm, I get to my feet and turn to leave, then stop.

I never thought I would be able to get that far. The very notion was simply funny, unimaginable, before tonight. But now…

Could I live here again?

Well, I don't know, but the answer isn't a simple _no_ anymore.

With a miserable sigh, I head towards the door, shutting and locking it behind me. I'll go to Olivia's, mull it over, and get some sleep. I'll figure it out tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Two in the god damn morning.

_Why am I awake this late?_ I wonder as I lay down on Olivia's couch, wearing the now familiar scarf-sling and mutilated sweats. Well, I don't know.

This is just like last night. On the weekend, I had thought I would just go to bed two hours earlier, because I had to wake up two hours sooner in the morning. But I hadn't. I had just gone to bed at two in the morning, as usual, and gotten up at six. And tonight, the same has happened. I took my shower at midnight, then continued working until it was two in the morning.

But as soon as my head hits the pillow, I stop thinking. Fours of sleep has left me exhausted, and I go right to sleep, to another four hours of blissful nothingness.

* * *

"Melinda." The poor victim looks up at me with with wide, hopeful eyes- it's like she's begging me not to put her through it. Clasping my shaking hands behind my back, I force myself to continue, even though it about breaks my hear to do so. "Can you please tell the court how the defendant got into your apartment?"

She nods slowly, and when her gaze flicks over to Saks, I move to stand in front of him. A small feeling of panic begins when I realize my back is to a rapist, but I have to keep myself calm. Fin and Munch are here, as well as the court officers, and about a dozen other people. I'm safe here.

"I'm an accountant, and he was one of my clients. Every meeting we tried to set up during work hours fell through because of his schedule, and so, eventually, we met at a Starbucks after work. Afterwards, it was rather late, so he walked me home."

Her face fell, then, and it took everything I had to keep questioning her. "And then what happened?"

Melinda shrugged uncertainly, looking down at her knees, her gaze slightly confused. "I… I don't know. I said thanks for walking me home, but he insisted on walking me up towards my apartment, even though we were already at my building. I thought it was a little strange, but he had been kind enough to walk me home, so I didn't want to be rude and tell him to just go away.

"When we got up to my apartment, I said thank you again, then I unlocked my door." She stopped, then, biting her lip and glancing up at me worriedly.

I nod as encouragingly as I can, trying to get her to keep talking. All I really want to do is apologize to her, for making her go through this, and just shout at the judge, the jury, the defense attorney- why is all of this necessary? He raped five women, and we have to put up this sham of a trial?

Melinda, ignorant of my dark, private thoughts, continues her testimony. "He forced me inside and pushed me to the floor. I would have screamed, but he w-was sitting on my stomach; I could hardly breathe. He said that he wanted to have some fun. I tried to fight him off, but it was made him more angry."

Melinda talks about her rape in a terrifyingly humiliating display for the entire courtroom to hear, and by it's end, there's a scream trapped in my throat, begging to be released, from the rush of memories that I've been living in throughout nearly her entire testimony. I had tried to fight Danny off, but he just told me that I would never be strong enough to get him off of me. I hadn't been able to scream, but I know I should've. Maybe if I had, this wouldn't of happened.

"Thank you." My voice is calm and steady, a feat of which I am quite proud of, and I walk slowly back to my seat. I lean on my injured leg, using the pain to distract me, and say, "No further questions."

Back at my seat, I watch as Trevor walks towards Melinda. "So, my client, someone you barely even know, just forced himself into your home and made you have sex with him?"

His wording makes me flinch. Honestly, what was the point of that? His questions are always designed to draw out the most emotions and pain in a rape victim as possible- and I can't think of any other reason than for him to practically browbeat the victims then to hurt him. I really can't understand him.

Melinda nods, and a small smile flashes across my face when I see a steely glint in her eye. She's getting mad at him, not herself, for once. That's good.

"Yes, that's what happened."

"I'm sorry, I just have trouble seeing that happening. For one, you hardly had any bruises- but what you described was rather violent."

Melinda shrugged, keeping her defiant glare focused on Trevor. "I don't bruise easily."

"Convenient. So, you had no injuries or bruises to show for this so-called 'violent assault', and you admit not to screaming- if this was, indeed, rape, how would my client know you didn't want it?"

"He knew! I was fighting him as hard as I could-"

"Well, he doesn't have any bruises, either."

Did Danny know that I didn't want it? Is that why he didn't stop? Maybe…

_Stop it, Casey! Focus on the trial!_

Melinda hesitates before explaining, "I… I wasn't very successful in fighting him off, in case you couldn't tell. I didn't actually hit him."

That's right. I never actually_ hit_ Danny, no matter how hard I tried; he was too strong to even give me a chance.

My mind keeps drifting, and it hurts, now- unimaginably so. But I have to focus on the trial. And so, I hide my hands under the table and begin to drag my fingernails up my wrist, moving as slowly as possible, trying to scratch deep enough to draw blood. I kept scratching myself as Trevor's harsh questions continued.

"Melinda, can you give me_ any_ reason to make me believe that this was rape?"

Oh, the bastard is so close to an objection. "It was!" Melinda cried. "My word, isn't that good enough for you?"

Trevor shook his head, beginning to pace around the courtroom. "Can you at least give the court any evidence to show that my client knew you didn't want it, if that was, in fact, the case?"

I've got him. "Objection!" I cry, immediately standing and glaring at him. "Your Honor, it's the People's job to present an argument, not any witness's."

"I agree. Mr. Langan, change your line of questioning."

He nods easily and walks back to his chair. "No further questions."

Melinda's shaking slightly, and I think she's about to burst into tears. I could go on and do some damage control; it really wouldn't be to hard… but I can't bear to keep her up there any longer. Still scratching my wrist as painfully as I can, I stand and say, "The People have no further questions, either."

"You can step down now, Ms. Ross," Judge Donnelly said softly, and Melinda nods before getting hurriedly to her feet and heading straight for the doors. I fight my own tears with all my strength and continue scratching myself frantically under the table. Please, don't make me call another witness now.

Liz pauses, then says, "Ms. Novak, approach."

This is even worse. Forcing myself to keep my hand still, I stand and walk towards her, wondering what it could be about. She didn't notice anything odd, did she?

"Casey, what the hell are you doing out there?" Liz looks angry and she's glaring at me; her whisper was quiet enough to prevent anyone else from hearing it but still betrayed her unhappiness with me just fine.

"What are you talking about?"

"You could have objected at least three times before that, or done some damage control, at the very least- and we haven't even been in court for more than ten minutes! Do I need to contact the DA? Because, I will."

I must have looked worse out there than I thought; Liz never would have done something like this otherwise. But doesn't she understand? I'm not going to make her stay up there for any longer than necessary. I'll just eliminate the damage using a different witness. "I know what I'm doing, Your Honor."

Liz hesitates, then shakes her head and waves me away. Perhaps she trusts me. Well, whatever it is, at least she's leaving me alone.

We go through two more of the rape victims before Liz adjourns court for the day. Both descriptions of rape made me hurt even worse, and I'm scratching my wrist even harder now. It doesn't hurt enough. I try to run for the door, but am quickly stopped by Fin and Munch.

"Casey, what were you doing out there?" John asked as I headed for the door. "I'm not a lawyer, but even I was able to notice some flaws in your 'strategy'."

I pretend to be uninterested, but inside, I'm furious. "Flaws, huh? Like what?"

"Well, like with your first witness. You know that witnesses who get angry on the stand don't look good in front of a jury. And you didn't even keep her up there and try to make the jury see her differently, you-"

"What, her shouting that she was raped and that she's not lying didn't convince you? Because it sure did me!"

Fin and Munch are both looking at me like I'm crazy. "Casey," Fin says after a moment, "we know she was raped, we're not questioning that. But your job is to convince the jury that, and-"

"Don't tell me what my _job_ is, Fin. You go do yours; excuse me while I go do mine." I storm away from him, hurriedly making for an empty courtroom as fast as possible. I'm falling apart and I can't do that in public.

When I'm finally alone, I sink slowly down to sit on the ground, hardly able to breathe. What's wrong with them? Why couldn't they see she was telling the truth and keeping her up there would only do more harm?

I raise my wrist to my eyes, hoping to see it covered in blood- but it's not. I scratched myself, yes, but not deep enough to draw blood. There are several bright red lines on my arm from my fingernails, but that's it.

"Damn it!" I snap, scratching myself again, trying in vain to make myself bleed. It hurts too much and suddenly, I'm caught in a desperate attempt to hurt myself, to make some of that pain just go away.

It's not working. It doesn't hurt enough. With no other means to hurt myself but desperately needing to, I curl my right hand into a fist and punch myself in the stomach.

It's not enough. I hit myself again, then twice more, but it's still not helping- not enough. I hit myself in the face, and it hurts, but not enough. "How could you be so stupid, Casey?" I snarl out loud. "You _let_ this happen! It's your fault!" Standing, I purposely stretch my dislocated shoulder and lean on my injured leg before hitting myself in the stomach again. "You deserve this. You deserve all of it!"

Finally having worn myself, I lean back against the wall, breathing hard. In the awful silence, I give a broken sob before wiping a tear off my cheek. I feel better now, I think. Still crying slightly, I regain my composure and straighten my jacket before turning to leave the courtroom, hoping to maintain as much dignity as possible. I have work to do and I'm not going to let myself shirk out of it, or take it easy the rest of the day. I'll make myself suffer through it until two in the morning, as always, and I'll ensure I get a conviction for this bastard. Who cares what Munch and Fin think? They don't know what I'm doing. I'm not going to let him get away with it.

* * *

It's past midnight, and I'm taking a shower in Olivia's apartment- what has become my new normal.

I had briefly considered trying to go into my apartment again, but finally decided that I shouldn't do that tonight. I have court tomorrow and I need to be on my best for the rape victims. I can try going into my apartment again when I don't have work the next day.

Well, I've got about two hours more of work to do- prep for court, mostly. I don't know how I managed to get it done thoroughly before, when I went to sleep at about eleven or twelve. I really use those extra two hours I'm awake now.

I've just shut the water off when the lights go out.

I freeze, standing there for several moments before it hits me- a power outage. "Son of a bitch," I mutter, feeling my way around as I stumble out of the shower. I find what I think- or hope- is a towel and dry myself off with it, moving my feet around to find what should be my clothes. I find cloth and try to get dressed for a few moments in absolute darkness before giving up.

Grumbling under my breath, with the towel still wrapped around me, I head out towards the living room and run my hands over the couch, hoping to find my cell phone. It takes a minute or two, but finally, amid the stacks of papers, I find it. Sighing in relief, I flip it open and use it as a flashlight and stumble back towards the bathroom, where I get dressed in near darkness, taking advantage of the faint light provided by my phone. By habit, now, I'm able to tie up my scarf sling without hardly having to look, but it does hurt more than usual, probably because of my actions early today.

Sighing, I limp back to the couch, cell phone in hand, to try and work for two more hours. After only a few minutes of squinting to read the small print, hunched over and taking at least five seconds to read a single word, I have to admit, I'm not getting anywhere with this. I would just go to sleep, but then, I wouldn't be fully prepared for court tomorrow.

Unless…

I set my phone's alarm to go off at four in the morning instead of six. Yes, I'm not a morning person, but anything for the victims, right?

Lying down on the couch, I sigh, thinking about how I'll be awake in just four hours. It seems miraculously short. Shrugging, I try to close my eyes, but… I can't.

It's too dark in here. What if he's here, and I just can't see him?

In a panic, I sit bolt upright and grab my phone, shining the weak light all around the apartment. I don't see anybody or anything to show for my fears. Narrowing my eyes, I give the room a once over once again, but I'm still too scared to close my eyes.

What am I going to do? I'm too frightened to sleep, but sitting here in the dark is only scaring me more. If only I could somehow preserve the safety I feel when the room is still alight by my phone.

Finally, I get the idea to make sure I can see everything and know that there's no one there before closing my eyes. I do just that, waking up my phone's display and glancing around to make sure I'm safe before lying down on my side and closing my eyes. The last thing I see is the light of my cell phone illuminating the room.

I, Casey Novak, am not afraid of the dark. Despite what just happened, I know that for certain. I was just… uncertain. That's all. Would I be able to sleep right now if my phone wasn't less than a foot away, still alighting the room in a weak silver glow? No, but that doesn't mean anything. I'm a grown woman. I'm too old to be afraid of the dark.

**End of Part One**


	8. Chapter 8

**Part Two**

Change of POV for Part Two. No longer first person.

Can I write a realistic drunk scene? No, no I can not. Can I write a realistic… or even slightly good… smut scene? No, no I can not- thus, the reason for the rather lame, minor time skip in this chapter. My apologies.

**Chapter 8**

The rest of the week passes without incident. Today is Friday; Olivia'll be back tomorrow, so Casey has been staying at her friend's apartment the entire time. She had hit herself on several occasions, mostly after she had tried to enter her own apartment again. She had made progress, getting farther and farther each time, but she has never conquered all the barriers and simply stood there; Casey had ended up jumping back every time.

She is still unable to sleep without having her cell phone on, illuminating the room, right next to her. She's not afraid of the dark, not in the least, just… a little uncertain. She still only gets four hours of sleep a night, working hard until two in the morning before settling in for four short, dreamless hours of sleep. She is actually wide awake during the majority of the day, only slipping into sleep when she has nothing to do and allows the exhaustion to overtake her. The other detectives are all worried about her, she can tell. Elliot's pulled her aside twice now and asked if everything's okay- and, all right, maybe she would say something to him, but right now? He's dealing with his injured daughter right now. He doesn't need her troubling him with anything.

Casey sighed unhappily. Truthfully, she can't wait for Olivia to get home. She knows that her arrival means that she'll have to move out and finally go home- she's finally gotten her act together and called that cleaning crew, so it's not a bloody disaster anymore. Still, she likes it at Olivia's apartment. She feels safe there.

However, when Olivia gets home, her friend will be here- and she can't wait to talk to the detective again. I know, it makes her sound like a teenager, but she doesn't care. She has this feeling that Olivia'll be able to make her feel so much better. Casey doesn't know why- perhaps, it's just that she's seen her talking to women so much more hurt and broken than the ADA, and she does help them. They rarely leave her presence in tears, shaking and sobbing like their heart was just torn out of their chest, ripped into a thousand pieces, and stomped on. And those women? She's nothing compared to them. She's fine.

Casey has one last night left in Olivia's apartment. Determined to take advantage of the safety and comfort of Olivia's home, she decides to go to her own apartment for one last try at standing where she was raped and not ending up running for her life. If she fails, she'll leave, depressed and probably crying, her body bruised and beaten from the wounds she herself has inflicted, and recover at Olivia's. If she does it tomorrow night, however, she'll end up wondering around outside, with nowhere else to go, probably crying her eyes out and searching for a place to stay until morning.

And that's how Casey ended up standing at the entrance to her apartment, glaring at her old, newly cleaned home in frustration. She's going to do this. She's not a big baby; she is strong enough to enter her own home and not break down.

The first step burns, as usual. And on the second step, the burning grows even worse and spreads along her feet and ankles. A few more, and it's like the floor is actually a bed of hot coals, and she's knee-deep in them. She's trembling violently and taking even one more step is going to hurt- but one more is all it will take.

Casey actually cries out, because this is painful. It is truly an impossible battle to take the final step, but she does it anyways.

And then there she is. Standing in the middle of her own living room, like she's accomplished some amazing, impossible thing.

But she hasn't. She didn't accomplish anything! This? What is this, in the scope of things? It's nothing! "God, Casey, you're so pathetic," she growls. "You think this is something? It's not!"

Frustrated and furious with herself, Casey hits herself in the stomach in what has become her custom, but it doesn't hurt nearly enough. Oddly patient, she feels along her chest, trying to find the most painful place to hit. And then, there it is- if she moves her hand so her knuckles are in the grooves of her ribs and then strike, it really, really hurts. She smiles, now, a real one, and start laughing in between the short cries of pain she gives every time her fist strikes her body.

It took her a whole week to accomplish nothing. Good job, Casey. Real fucking fantastic.

* * *

Why didn't she think of this sooner?

Alcohol is a wonderful invention. Why was she upset earlier? She doesn't know. Was she even upset? Same answer. Casey giggles and tosses back the rest of her drink before ordering another. How many is this? Six, seven?

"You know, lady, maybe you should think of slowing down," the bartender tells her, even as he hands her another drink.

"Want my money? Then be quiet." She giggles again before indulging in more alcohol. It's funny- when the night was young, Casey had thought it tasted cheap and awful, but now, it tastes wonderful.

A guy slides into the bar next to her and smiles. "Hey."

Still laughing quietly, I nod at him. "Hey." He does look good, Casey won't deny that. But she's not looking to hook up.

"I'm Daniel."

"That's nice." Suddenly, Daniel blurs and now, she's seeing two of him, and now he looks twice as good. But she's still not looking for a date.

Or is she?

In her experience, men looking for women in bars were looking for a one night stand, not a date. And, truth to be told, that sounded just perfect to Casey.

Sex would be the ultimate proof that she was truly past her rape. If Casey was able to seduce this man and get him to take her home and have sex with him without incident, then that was it- all the evidence she needed to fully believe that she really was fine. If she could manage to do that, it would help convince her that she wasn't as worthless as Danny told her with a cruel laugh in her ear.

"You looking for a one night stand?" Casey asked bluntly. Her own voice is almost unrecognizable and, in her inebriated state, the hopeful expression that flashed across his face before he shook his head was almost funny.

"What? No. Just-"

"I am. No strings attached, that sort of thing." With another sip of her drink, Casey winks at him, trying to make herself appear as the voluptuous woman who picks up men in bars all the time. She flips her red hair over her shoulder flirtatiously and gives an airy laugh. She's drunk enough that even if this man turns her down, she won't care- there's more than one man interested in this bar. Because a one night stand is literally _exactly_ what she needs now. She doesn't care who; any living thing will do, at this point. The need to show that she really is over the attack is suddenly overpowering.

"Look, maybe I should just-"

"Go find someone more sober?" Casey reaches out and grabs him by his shirt collar, pulling him a little closer. "Let me let you in on a little secret," she whispers in his ear. "I'm not so drunk that you should feel guilty of taking advantage. You can have all the fun you want!" She giggles again as her vision blurs and she starts sliding off her seat from her precarious position, only stopped by Daniel's arm around my waist.

He looks surprised, and a little doubtful. "You're not joking?"

By this time, Casey is getting fed up with flirting and wants to hurry this up. "No, but if you keep this up, you'll be sleeping alone."

He shrugs. "I guess today is my lucky day. Come on, I'll take you to my place, um… I never caught your name."

"Casey."

Daniel leads her to his car and she wonders, for a split second, if he's sober enough to drive. She certainly is not. The thought sets her off laughing again, and she doesn't even know why. All Casey can hope for is that he'll be just what she needs- one night consisting of the irrefutable proof that she is completely over what happened… that it didn't even affect her in the first place.

_The next morning…_

Casey's head is killing her.

Ow. What did she do last night? Whatever it was, it clearly involved herself and several gallons of alcohol. With a groan, Casey rolls over onto her side, regretting the movement almost instantly as her head begins pounding even harder. Slowly, she opens her eyes.

Jerking upright, Casey throws herself back from the man in bed next to her._ Oh my god. What's going on?_

Terrified, Casey searches around the room, looking for any sign that will tell her where she is. She doesn't recognize the room, but can see her jacket lying on the floor near the door. Jumping out of bed, Casey scrambles forward and grabs her clothes, hurriedly and haphazardly getting dressed, all the while trying not to wake whoever that man is.

She's halfway through getting dressed when she begins to remember. She had picked him up in a bar last night. She was so drunk she could probably get a rape charge to stick if she wanted to, but she remembers convincing him to take her home- and she remembers why.

She wanted him to have sex with her. She needed it to prove that she was fine.

Well, she got what she wanted. Did she get what she needed?

Yes… she thinks. But suddenly, she's covered in such a heavy cloud of shame that Casey can hardly breathe. She shouldn't have done this. She should have found a different way to prove that she was fine.

She feels awful now. Hanging her head, Casey hurried towards the door and is almost out of the bedroom when a voice stops her.

"Casey?"

Sighing heavily, Casey turns around to look at Daniel. He's sitting up in bed and looking at her though bleary eyes, and just seeing him makes her feel ten times more guilty and ashamed. "Yes?"

"You're leaving?" Daniel watches as she buttons up her jacket and leans against the doorframe, and Casey desperately wants to just melt into the ground and disappear. She can't stand this much longer.

"Well, yeah. That's what a one night stand is."

"Well, I just thought-"

"Look, sorry I was still here when you woke up. I'll be out of your hair just as soon as I call a cab and go home." So saying, Casey turns and hurries towards the door. He calls once more for her to stop, but when she ignores him, he lets her be.

She's not the kind of person that has one night stands. While she's not a 'square', by any means, she's still not one to go out and have sex with any random man she picks up from a bar. She doesn't take the phrase 'make love' lightly, and if anybody found out about what she did last night, she would probably die from shame.

It isn't until she sits down in the cab that Casey remembers the scars on her leg. She was actually supposed to have the stitches removed today. Oh, god, Daniel must have seen them. She doesn't remember if he commented on them or not, but she was so drunk, he could have said anything and she probably wouldn't remember.

There's no way Daniel didn't see them. What must he be thinking right now? Some probably crazy woman picks him up in a bar, obviously and even verbally asking for a one night stand, with recently carved initials in the back of her leg? Casey shudders at what he must be thinking of her right now.

Trying to force herself to calm down, Casey tries to be realistic. She will never see that man again. He doesn't even know her name, and even if he did, what does she care? As long as he never mentions those scars to anybody, what does it matter? While they had done last night may have been horrible, no one had to find out.

Nevertheless, now, Casey now wants Olivia here with here even more. She feels like the worst person in the world and, while she can't tell the detective the full story, Casey still feels that if only she could talk to her, Olivia would be able to make her feel better.

But she can't, and all her other friends are male. It's not like they would understand. Olivia does get into town tonight, though…

Suddenly, her mind is overtaken by images of her and her best friend, with Olivia telling her that it's all right, that she's not an awful person, that she's okay… but that's all just a wishful, hopeful dream. That would mean she would have to tell her what happened, and she will never do any such thing. She's over her attack, last night did prove that much, and there is no reason to bring it up now.

With a miserable sigh, Casey pays the cab driver and heads up to Olivia's apartment. She needs to clean it up and make it look like she was never there. She was actually going to do it last night, but then I went to my apartment and got rather… sidetracked.

When she reaches out to open the door, her shoulder twinges with pain. It's been healing slowly over the week and now, the sling she made is finally unnecessary. The cuts do still hurt a little, but overall, she is feeling much better.

While she can't remember much, she can remember how her shoulder was dislocated. It had hurt. It had hurt a lot...

_Danny pulls me back by my hair so I'm on my knees, him crouching behind me, sitting on my legs and keeping me from fighting back. He grabs my arm and pulls it behind my back, jacking it up and suddenly, it's like my shoulder is on fire. I cry out, and it's like nothing I have ever felt before._

Back in the present, Casey is suddenly assaulted by the utter fear and pain from that night once again, and she whimpers, doubling over and trying to curb her terror. It's like she is actually back in the moment while she was being raped, and she is so frightened she can hardly breathe. "Oh, god," she gasps, closing her eyes and beginning to shake from the harsh, cruel fear that simply won't dissipate.

Now in a frantic hurry to get inside, where she's safe, Casey dashes out of the elevator and runs for Olivia's apartment. Her shaking hands fumble with the key and she's about to pass out; she has almost gotten the door unlocked when it opens to reveal Olivia.

She blinks, surprise flitting across her expression when she sees her standing there, waiting for her. "Casey?" she asks in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

The shock of seeing Olivia now only makes her panic work. Somewhere deep within her, where she's not about to pass from lack of air because she can hardly breathe, Casey realizes that she was inside- along with a hell of a lot of evidence that someone else has been living there this past week.

With that, Casey loses any last semblance of calm that she had. Something tells her that she should just run, and now, but she doesn't have the strength to. She tries to swallow a sob but fails miserably, managing to turn it into a strangled cry. "I'm s-sorry, I shouldn't be here," she stammers, turning and moving as fast as she can down the hallway, but Olivia grabs her and pulls her back.

"Casey, what's going on?"

Her warm voice is saturated with confusion and so much concern that Casey actually hurts from the shame. _I don't deserve her sympathy. _"Everything's f-fine," she gasps, and Olivia rests her hand on the ADA's back. It's an attempt to be comforting, she supposes, but physical touch only frightens her more. Casey flinches back, struggling desperately to keep herself under control.

"Case, what happened?" Her brown eyes are watching her every move and, while her hand is already forming a fist and Casey's certain that if she hits herself, she would be under control in a minute, she can't. Not with Olivia in here.

Desperate to get her friend out of the room, Casey shakes her head again and wheezes, "W-water. Water!"

Resting a hand on her arm, Olivia stands and says, "I'll get it; stay right here. I'll be back in a second."

The moment Olivia's gone, Casey slams her fist into her abdomen as hard as she can before punching her ribs twice, then her face once. When the sink starts up, she continues her violent assault for as long as she can before the sink shuts off and she hears footsteps. Stilling her hand, Casey leans back again the couch and allows her breathing to slow as a cloud of calm covers her. She's about to cry, but not about to breakdown, like she was just a few seconds earlier.

Olivia walks over to her, oblivious, holding a glass of water and watching the ADA uncertainly. "Here you go," she says slowly, clearly confused by Casey's rapid change in demeanor.

The water doesn't really help, but she swallows it eagerly anyway and forces herself to smile. "Thank you."

Olivia sits next to her as Casey tips the glass back and drinks some, needing something to do with her hands and keep her occupied. "It's nothing."

While her friend observes her, Casey looks around the apartment, searching for any signs of her brief stay here. All she had really left here was a few files in her briefcase, all of which are piled neatly on the floor, just out of Olivia's sight. She can only pray that Olivia hasn't noticed her yet.

"Casey… what's going on?"

"When did you get back into town?"

Olivia narrows her eyes, but answers anyway. "Just a few minutes ago. I was eager to get back to my apartment and didn't want to spend half the day stuck in traffic, so I left a little early. Casey, what is going on?"

_Damn it, Casey, think! _ "Um, I was… just a little upset."

"Yeah, I know. What happened?" Clearly sensing that she is a little uncomfortable with her friend this close to her, Olivia leans back against the couch and rests her head in her hand, watching as she shifts around and tries to find something to say that the detective will accept.

Casey reaches up and caresses her sore shoulder to pass the time. It started hurting a lot more during that flashback- she doesn't know whether to attribute it to 'muscle memory' or… at this point, she doesn't even understand much of anything even more.

Suddenly, inspiration for a distraction strikes her. And, to kill two birds with one stones- her question is actually one she want an answer to. "Olivia… I have a question."

"Shoot."

"Well, you know self-defense, right?"

Olivia looks unbelievably confused, but she nods anyway. "Of course I do… Casey, what does this have to do with-"

"So, if someone had your arm behind your back and was jerking it up… how would you get out of a hold like that?" Olivia frowns, and Casey shifts uncomfortably, forcing herself to hold her gaze steady. Olivia suspects something, that much is clear, but… she can't help it. She needs an answer to this.

"Kick them in the shin."

"Well, what if you were on the ground and your attacker was on your legs? What if you couldn't kick him?" She's desperate now. She has to know how to stop it if it ever happens again. It doesn't matter that she's practically spelling out what happened for Olivia. She needs an answer.

Olivia looks very suspicious now. "Case, unless you have actual training, then you really wouldn't have a way out of that. Then again, there'd be no reason for anyone to use that kind of a move against you unless you were a good enough fighter to make it necessary. Casey, what does this have to do with why you were so upset a few minutes ago?"

With a heavy sigh, Casey finishes the rest of the water and sets the glass on Olivia's table. She knows the detective wants an answer, but it is rather disheartening to know that there was nothing she could have done. It takes a lot of effort for her to nod weakly and invent a truly awful excuse. "Um… not much, actually. Something of a distraction, I guess."

"Casey… did someone try to hurt you like that and-"

"What? Oh, no! God no! Of course not!" Casey sits upright and smiles brightly at her friend, searching her mind for something, _anything_ to tell her. _Nothing you say can make this worse, Casey! _"I… that was just a… a question one of my witnesses asked me. That was how they were assaulted, and they wanted to know what to do to avoid it, if it ever happened again. That's not why… I mean, I wasn't that upset when I came here. I don't-"

"Casey, you could hardly breathe. Don't tell me that." When Casey remains silent and reverts her gaze to her knees, Olivia moves a little closer to her and asks softly, her voice quiet and comforting, "Did something happen on your date last night?" At her utterly confused look, the detective says, "El told me," but that does nothing to clear it up for the ADA.

Date? What is she talking about? Does she somehow know about Daniel?

She's about to panic again before Casey remembers that, last night, the squad had invited her for drinks. She'd had that debacle at her apartment to work on and, thus, had declined. Elliot had asked her why, and she had lied and told him that she had a date.

She's about to laugh it off and tell Olivia no, it had nothing to do with a date- but, then again, a date could be the perfect excuse. "Yeah. Yeah, something happened on my date."

Olivia waits for her to continue, but honestly, she's at a loss for what to say. A date seems like the most trivial thing in the world right now. Anything she says, at this point, will make her sound like an idiot. What, she nearly had a panic attack because she didn't get asked out for a second date? Oh, please.

So she decides to go for melodramatic. "He… he never showed. I know, I know, I'm twenty-nine and I'm practically crying over my blind date not showing up, but, it's just… I had a really awful day at work- well, awful week, actually- and was really looking forward to just… forgetting about work for a while, you know?"

Olivia nods. "Yeah, actually, I do."

Casey does feel bad for deceiving her like this, but it's not like she has a choice here. "I don't know why I'm this upset. I just… my date, coupled with everything that happened at work… I don't know."

It's a half-baked excuse, if that, and Olivia is a brilliant detective. Casey can tell by the look on her face that she knows none of the ADA's story adds up. She can only hope that her friend won't press, because she's not about to tell her why she was really upset.

Why would she, after all? Why bring up the rape now? She's fine, she's over it, and no one will _ever_ know about it. Mentioning what happened now would only cause unnecessary trouble.

When Olivia speaks again, it's clear she's choosing her words carefully and watching Casey's reaction to every one of them. "I'm sorry. Your blind date sounds like a jackass."

She gives a hollow chuckle and shrugs weakly in response. Finally being with her best friend again is apparently just what she needed to truly believe that she is actually past what happened. She doesn't know how Olivia does it, but she's already managed to cheer her up. "Thanks."

"You know… I have a date Monday night. And he's got a single friend who I can vouch for; I've been friends with him for years. If you want, I can set you two up and we can go out together."

A date? Oh, no. No, she's not ready for that. The very thought reminds Casey of her earlier panic and terror and she shakes her head almost immediately. She can't do this.

Casey's already opening her mouth to tell Olivia no, she can't do it… but then, she'll have to tell her why. And, faced with the option of either agreeing to go on one date or telling her Olivia she was raped, there is only one viable option.

Nevertheless, her voice is shaky when she replies, "Oh, really? That's great! Thanks, Olivia!" Partly to turn the conversation away from herself, because she can't stop thinking about how she just agreed to go on a date with somebody she doesn't even _know_ and will probably end up in the same place she did after her last relationship with Danny ended, she asks quickly, "So, who's your date? And who's your date's friend?"

Olivia chuckles. "Well, don't tell Elliot. My partner really doesn't like him too much- but remember when I was undercover for the feds, and my handler was Dean Porter? Well, that's him. And his friend is Brian Cassidy. He was a detective on the squad a few years before you became our ADA. He transferred out, and actually works with Dean at the FBI now."

FBI? That means he's certainly had self-defense training. He could completely incapacitate a simple ADA in a matter of seconds… this is even worse than Danny.

She doesn't want to do this. More than anything, Casey is terrified that she'll end up exactly like she did before, but there's no way out of it. All she's able to do is give a frightened nod, already trembling from the ramifications of the horrifying mistake she just made.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

When Casey gets dressed for dinner with Brian Cassidy, she doesn't feel like she's getting dressed for a date. She feels like she's arming herself for war.

She's taking a weapon, no doubt about that. With no access to a gun, she's used her scarf to tie a kitchen knife to her good leg. It's sharp enough to do some real damage, if it has to, and now, she's going to be ready for anything he tries. She's not just going to head back home, unawares, a walking target.

There's also the problem of what she's going to wear. She can't wear pants, because that would make the knife practically inaccessible. A skirt is really her only choice, but... she can't do that. She only just got the stitches removed from those cuts, which are still red and raw. There is no chance in hell she's going to let anyone see those scars, which is possible if she wears a skirt.

Casey's only option is a dress, and she supposes she'll have to settle for that. She's not usually the type to wear a dress on a date, but she doesn't have a choice now.

She's been agonizing about this for over two days, ever since Olivia set her up with Brian Cassidy, imaging all sorts of horrible possibilities after she tells Brian that she doesn't want to see him again. She has to be ready for anything he tries.

Looking in the mirror, she decides that she doesn't look awful. She's wearing a black dress that falls down to her ankles that she got as a present several years ago. She hasn't worn it until tonight, and now, she's glad she's kept it all these years. It's the kind of thing one would wear to a charity benefit, so it's not too revealing, which is good. Her hair is held in a bun, and she can't deny that that is only because she remembers Danny being able to grab onto her long hair and holding her fast; she's taking every precaution she can to ensure that that can't happen again.

She needs to leave soon. She can't ride her bike yet, because of the cuts, so she's just going to walk there. Not the safest choice, in New York City, but if she takes a cab here and back, she won't be able to tell if anyone is following her. She sighs bitterly, glaring at her reflection in the mirror. She's actually shaking, she's so scared of going on this date. "Look at you," Casey snaps at her reflection. "You're such a screw up. Agreed to go on this date, even though you knew it wasn't safe, and now you can't even calm down? Worthless." She hits herself as hard as she can before shaking her head in disgust and heading for the door.

This is her first time out at night alone since what happened. She can't deny that she's sacred. Every single person on this street could pose a threat to her, and she's starting to regret agreeing to this date more and more now, but, then again, it's not like she had a choice.

* * *

Brian appears to be a tough, well-built man who could take Casey in a second. When he greets her, he seems nice enough, but that doesn't mean anything… so did Danny.

"So, Dean tells me that you and Olivia have been friends for years?" Brian asks as they sit down at the table, with Casey next to Olivia.

She nods uncomfortably, clasping her shaking hands in her lap and forces herself to look at him. "Yes. I'm the squad's ADA."

There's an awkward silence, and Brian bites his lip and shifts uncomfortably before Olivia says, "Yeah, we've known each other for about four years now."

While the others start conversing, Casey hesitates before crossing her legs, struggling to reach the knife without being blindingly obvious. When Brian takes off his jacket, she can see his muscles, and they do nothing but worry her.

Brian does make an effort to talk to her, and he is very sweet. She almost feels bad for being so short with him, but the familiar ache of the initials branded into her skin forever reminder her that she has good reason to fear him. The hilt of the knife is hidden in the folds of her dress, and she's gripping the hilt so tightly it almost hurts her hand. It reassures her, but only slightly. She's still nearly sick with fear and the looks Olivia are shooting in her direction make it obvious that the detective knows that something is wrong.

Casey merely tightens her grip on the knife and says nothing.

By the time their food arrives, she feels even worse. Her head is starting to ache and she feels nauseous. Going on this date was an awful idea. She can hardly make a sad attempt at small talk and she's terrified. No matter how hard she tries, Casey can't manage to stop shaking.

"You got somewhere to be?" Brian asks her after she looks at her watch for probably the hundredth time tonight.

"Um, no." What was she supposed to say? That every minute this date continued, she felt more and more nervous? That she couldn't wait for this date to end and was desperate to get away from him?

Olivia and Dean really hit it off. And while Casey's happy for her, she still wants to leave. By the time Olivia and Dean finally stand up, she's shaking so hard Olivia actually asks her what's wrong.

"Nothing… I think I'm coming down with something, that's all." That much is true. Her headache is getting worse and she feels like she's about to throw up, but Casey isn't sure how much of her current state is due to the fact that she's on a _date_ right now.

"Well, I can drive you home," Brian offers, but her mind rebels against the very thought and she has to grip the knife- now hidden away in her pocket- even tighter to keep herself relatively calm.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, though." Whatever happens, Brian can not find out where she lives. He can't be waiting for her when she gets home, with a long, sharp knife and a sadistic grin, if he doesn't know where she lives.

"Well, I think we're going to split. Brian, I'll see you tomorrow." Dean heads for the door, and Olivia tells her that she hopes she feels better before following after him.

As Casey and Brian walk to the door, he asks her, "So, do you want to meet up again, or…?" He doesn't look particularly expectant or excited; in fact, he's the picture of apathy right now. That makes her slightly less frightened of turning him down.

"No. Sorry, it's just that I'm very busy right now;_ really_ don't have time for a relationship. For what it's worth, you are nice, though." With that, she hurries to the door. Brian doesn't call her back, which relieves her, and he didn't seem to be disappointed at all by being turned down. It's not like she was particularly enticing on the date; she wasn't nice or funny or endearing. Still, though, that was how Danny had responded. He had tried to convince her otherwise, but only for a minute or two. He hadn't appeared crushed or psychotic. Brian's apparent indifference could simply be a mask; he could be waiting for her when she gets home.

As she walks down the dark, nearly deserted streets, Casey finds herself flinching at every sound, searching around to make sure that no one is following her. With the knife at her side, she feels only slightly safer, but it's better than nothing. But the closer she gets to her apartment, the worse her headache gets. It gets so painful that it's actually hard to keep walking. She supports her head with one hand, the other still grasping the knife, and can hardly focus, despite her hypersensitive nerves and fear that Brian is following her. She's starting to think that she actually is sick. Despite the fact that she refuses to let herself slack off on her self-imposed regime of staying up and working until two in the morning, tonight, she feels as if she can make an exception.

No matter how sick she is, Casey still is aware enough to know that her apartment is not safe. She unlocks it with shaking hands, the knife still in her now sweaty grip. She's about to step inside when she realizes that she's still staring at the ground, because it hurts to much for her to lift her head.

How selfish was she being right now? She could step inside, completely unaware of anything and everything, and find herself on the floor, with her hands in his and trapped above her head and him telling her she wasn't strong enough- all because of a little headache. "You… you worthless whore," she forced out, hitting herself in the stomach. "Look up and focus."

She feels worse than before, but now, she can focus. Raising her head, Casey stepped inside her apartment, the knife in her hand raised defensively.

It was dark. There was nobody there that she could see. Flipping on the lights, Casey stepped forward and examined the couch nervously, where Danny had been waiting for her. There was nobody there. Nothing behind the couch, either.

She painstakingly searches every room at least twice before the pain in her head forces her to stop. Casey now thinks that it's a migraine, something she hasn't had in years. Sleep, she knows, is the only thing she can do to escape from this kind of pain, and, for once, she doesn't feel pathetic for not being stoic and working on her cases until two in the morning. It's still early, only half past ten, but she's exhausted and her head won't stop pounding.

No matter how awful she feels, though, Casey knows that it's not safe. Even though she hadn't seen any sign of Brian anywhere in her apartment didn't mean he wasn't coming. And she doesn't feel good sleeping with the knife; it's very sharp and she doesn't want to roll over and stab herself in the middle of the night.

So, she opts for her softball bat. She feels more at home with a bat in her hand instead of a knife any day of the week, anyway. Casey stumbles to her room, bat resting on her shoulder, blindly changing out of her dress into shorts and a tank top, for once, not caring that her scars are fully visible. Then her stomach flips and she rushes to her bathroom, a hand over her mouth.

When she was finally done being sick, it took all of her strength to stand on shaky legs and wash her face in the sink. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath. The cold water hurt her teeth but did nothing to alleviate the migraine, which caused her to groan in pain and stumble back to her bed, the bat hanging limply by her side. "I hate migraines."

She may be sick, but that doesn't mean she doesn't feel more than slightly nervous in the dark. Lazily dropping her cell phone down on her bedside table, Casey collapsed onto the warm sheets, pulling them over her shivering, cool limbs and burying her head into a pillow. All she could do was pray to fall to sleep's tenuous hold soon.

* * *

When Casey wakes up the next morning, her headache is gone.

She gives a contented sigh and rolls onto her side, raising her gaze to look at her alarm clock. It's six thirty.

"Damn," she mutters, sitting upright slowly and running a tired hand through her stringy hair. With a miserable sigh, she rolls out of bed. If she didn't have to work today, then perhaps she would be content to stay in bed for another hour or more, but, nevertheless…

Now that she didn't feel like someone was pounding several dozen nails into her skull, she knew that her migraine was caused by the stress and fear from her date. In the past, every migraine she'd ever had had been a result of just that- stress and fear.

If she was being honest with herself, she wasn't surprised. Yes, she had completely dealt with her rape, but that didn't mean she should be throwing herself into a relationship. They would expect sex, and it's not as if she could get stone cold drunk every single time- and that was probably the only way she would be able to handle someone, let alone a man, touching her… on top of her…

With a shudder, Casey stumbled sleepily out of her bedroom, intending to take a shower and wash away all her memories of last night. "God, you're so pathetic," she mumbled under her breath. "Can't even go on a date without getting a migraine. What's wrong with you, Casey?"

She didn't have an answer.


	10. Chapter 10

Final chapter. A sequel is coming for this somewhere along the road, but, first, I have to end my other ongoing CO series. Thanks to everybody who reviewed or favorited this story (even though you didn't take the time to review... even once...)

**Chapter 10**

_Three months later_

Four hours of sleep, with a bat and a light. Then work, sometimes for up to twelve hours. Grueling hours of struggling to be in the same room as rapists, of forcing young woman to explain their attacks in horrifying detail while she fights not to break down. Probably hitting herself a few times after court for good measure, trying to make herself conform and just be normal again. By the time she gets home, she's yearning for a drink, and usually indulges in one or two before going to bed for four short, yet dreamless, hours.

That's her life now.

It's Friday night, and, for the first time in three months, she is not a bar, getting so drunk that she forgets how to feel, how to hurt. For once, she's at home, shaking and fighting the tears that are about to fall.

She wants to tell someone that she was raped.

Not just someone. Olivia.

There are a thousand and one negative consequences that could arise from that, but Casey doesn't care. Not anymore.

Why?

_Several hours previously…_

"Casey… Casey!"

The sound of Elliot's voice broke the ADA's light slumber. With a low groan, she forced her eyes open and pushed herself upright, shaking her head blearily. "I'm sorry…" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry… what's going on?"

"You were asleep at work… at eight on a Friday night. When I tried to wake you up, you started threatening to kill me," he said lightly. "You know, when you try to kill people who wake you up, you really should start getting more sleep at night, Casey."

Elliot's joking with her, that much is obvious. But this isn't funny.

She doesn't remember threatening him. She doesn't remember threatening anybody.

Did she have a nightmare?

_Present_

She. Had. A. Nightmare.

Now it all made sense. She hadn't had a single one since she was raped, and now, she knew why. She was so exhausted, only getting four hours of sleep a night, but hadn't realized how much it had affected her body; her mind. Her body had been so exhausted she hadn't remembered any dreams- or nightmares- that she had.

And now, here she was, sitting on her couch and about to burst into tears for one, simple, saddening reason.

She hadn't dealt with her rape at all. She'd allowed herself to fall into a trap and been in denial for three months, relying on alcohol and work to consume her life so she wouldn't have room for anything else. Perhaps, it had been partly out of the vain hope that if she threw herself into her work, then she would be able to just ignore her rape and continue living- but, of course, it didn't work. Why would it? She hadn't dealt with anything at all.

That one night stand? What did that prove? Nothing. What, she can have sex with a man as long as she's so drunk that getting shot wouldn't faze her? "Great accomplishment there, Casey," she muttered under her breath before giving a broken sob, falling onto her side and wrapping her arms around herself tightly, giving up the battle and allowing tears to stream down her cheeks unrelentingly.

And now, when she had nothing left to lose, Casey couldn't lie to herself anymore. She had to deal with it, but she had honestly no idea how- and she wanted help with it.

She needed to speak up and tell somebody what happened. Tell somebody and ask for help.

Olivia.

Olivia was her best friend. She worked with rape victims all the time and would know what to say, what to do, to help her. Somehow, Casey just got this picture in her mind of her telling Olivia what happened and her friend being able to wave a magic wand and make her feel better.

She knows that there is no quick fix for this; she's not a complete idiot. But if only Olivia could take this unimaginable pain off of her, just for a short while…

And, of course, there were the downsides.

Casey didn't want to tell this to Olivia and burden her with her troubles. With Olivia's job and her past, surely, the detective has enough to deal with. Why add more emotional strain to the situation?

And detectives are mandated to report crimes. Even if she wants help dealing with it, that doesn't mean she wants everyone to know about it. That she'd even be _able_ to go through a trial. She doesn't want to report this. And after three months? Her chances at a conviction would be zero to none. She didn't want to put Olivia in that kind of a position by asking her not to report it.

But, even with all the legitimate, valid concerns she has… that doesn't matter. Casey still needs to tell somebody what happened, and Olivia is her only choice.

But now? Now, while she's crying so hard she can barely speak, let alone stand? No… she can put this off until tomorrow.

Almost instantly, though, Casey realizes where this is going. If she put this off until tomorrow, then it would keep getting put off, and she would eventually never say anything- because, even though she wants to break her vow of silence on what happened to her, the thought of telling her friend is absolutely terrifying. The very idea has her trembling with fright.

And so, even while she's crying her eyes out and just wants to stay on this couch and sob into a pillow, Casey curls her shaking hand into a fist and punches herself in her ribs. It takes a few blows for her to finally calm her cries down into something controllable. Then, still with tears slipping down her cheeks, hardly able to stop the sobs still begging to be released, and stumbles toward the door, leaving everything behind. It's cold tonight, but she doesn't care enough to even grab her coat. Maybe the cold will comfort her. At this point, she's so desperate for anything to make her feel better, she'll try anything.

People give her a wide berth on the street. She must look crazy; stumbling down the street, her cheeks wet with tears, her breath coming in short gasps, not even wearing a coat in the middle of the snow. Who cares what she looks like, at this point? Her only goal is to get to Olivia and admit everything.

Twenty minutes later, she's standing in front of Olivia's apartment, knocking on the door with a shaking fist. By now, she's lost the battle against tears. As soon as she got inside, Casey had given up and allowed them to cascade down in cheeks in unrelenting waterfalls of sorrow and shame. She has to do this now, while the urge to tell someone is so undeniable. "Please answer, Olivia," she begs. "Please."

Just when she's about to give up and allow the sobs to burst free, the door opens.

And there stands Olivia, and, at the present moment, she's like an angel sent from heaven to heal her and stop her from hurting. Shock flits across her brown eyes when she sees Casey standing there, tears staining her cheeks, and she's still crying, and she gasps, "Casey?"

"Olivia… I need to tell you something."


End file.
